


Anegada:  The Drowned Land

by veronamay



Series: Castaways [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, BAMF Jensen, Charity Auctions, Desert Island Fic, M/M, Pirates, Swords & Fencing, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared washes ashore on a remote Caribbean island after a devastating shipwreck. The only person he can find to help him is a brusque, misanthropic natural historian who declares he only wants solitude, but whose eyes say something else altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my one and only [](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_haiti**](http://help-haiti.livejournal.com/) offering, which is way, way overdue. [](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/)**deirdre_c** was my high bidder; I promised her a 2,000 word fic by the end of February. Er. *coff* ANYWAY. Dei gave me a few prompts, all of which were awesome, but the one I went with in the end was " _J2 stranded-on-a-desert-island_ ". In the nineteenth century. With pirates. There might also be a damsel in distress, but I swear I don't know how that happened.
> 
> [](http://engenda.livejournal.com/profile)[ **engenda**](http://engenda.livejournal.com/) helped immensely with the plot; [](http://nu-breed.livejournal.com/profile)[**nu_breed**](http://nu-breed.livejournal.com/) and [](http://sloane-m.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sloane-m.livejournal.com/)**sloane_m** did beta duty. Any remaining errors are my own.

The first thing Jared did upon regaining consciousness was choke.

His throat was dry and caked with salt; the effort of expelling all the water from his lungs made him curl up in pain, no easy feat for a man of his size. He lay on his side and gasped for breath, oblivious to everything but the sweet pull of air.

Once all the water was out and he could breathe more or less unhindered, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes. He shut them again almost immediately, blinded by the brilliant sun shining overhead. Shading his eyes with one hand, Jared cautiously used the other to lever himself into a sitting position, wincing as the many scrapes and aches of his body made themselves known. He peered through his lashes, then nearly choked again when he took in his surroundings.

Water. As far as the eye could see, there was water. He had washed up on a sandy beach, the shore the light buttery colour of his mother's biscuits and the sea a deep blue-green, so beautiful it made his eyes hurt. The sky was a paler blue, marked here and there with high, thin wisps of cloud that were the only sign that there had ever been a storm.

Everything was perfectly calm, from the waves lapping gently against the sand to the quiet whisper of the breeze through the low-lying vegetation. He could hear strange birds calling to one another somewhere out of sight, and there were rustlings of small hidden animals going about their business. Otherwise, there was nothing; there was no sign of human habitation at all.

* * *

He dragged himself further up the beach, away from the high-tide line. Seated with his back propped against a low-branched tree, Jared took stock of his situation.

The ship had been on its way to Santo Domingo, delivering a replacement load of African slaves to one of the richer sugar plantations on the island. He'd obtained passage for a steep price, paid for by his parents, who had waved him off at Port Galveston with tears and bright hopes for his future. He remembered waving back, feeling uncertainty deep in his gut, wondering if he'd ever have occasion to look on them again.

From the apparent situation he now found himself in, Jared thought perhaps he wouldn't.

Fortunately, the storm appeared to have cast him on one of the more hospitable isles in the region. He'd done some hasty reading after his passage was booked, and there were stories of fearsome rocky terrains and unlivable conditions such as to make grown men go pale. What Jared saw around him now was nothing like that; here there was greenery, clement weather, and if God was good, he should be able to fashion some sort of contraption to allow him to spear a fish for his supper. Jared refused to think any further ahead than that.

He stayed beneath the tree for some time, regaining his strength and trying to piece together his hazy memory of the storm that had brought the _Marie Louise_ to ruin. There wasn't much to remember; he'd been below when the weather turned, and had stayed there on Captain Morgan's orders, not wishing to put himself in the way of the crew. It all seemed to happen very quickly: at one moment he was staggering about, trying in vain to hoist himself into his berth, and in the next instant there was an almighty _crack_ and the ship began to shudder. Jared remembered clinging to a bulkhead, staring in horror as the tarred and caulked planks burst apart under some impact from the outside. Then there'd been water, tons of it, cold and green and smothering, and he'd barely escaped being trapped in the berth under the onslaught.

On deck, panic reigned; the ship was caught, run aground on something Jared couldn't see, and he was buffeted about by sailors scurrying to and fro, looking for ways to save themselves. He'd clung to a deck rail, fighting to clear his vision, but the torrential rain and sea-spray made it impossible. He had a vague memory of intending to seek out the captain, and offering what assistance he might; and then there was nothing but cold, and darkness, until he'd opened his eyes on the beach.

There must have been a wave, he realised. Standing with his back to the sea, he'd had no warning, only the shock and pressure drawing him backward over the rail. It was a miracle he hadn't been caught on the reef like the ship; it was a miracle he'd survived at all.

Well, then. Jared ignored the shake in his hands and pressed his exhausted body into motion. He needed to find food, shelter and, preferably, other people before sunset. It was time to be on his way.

* * *

He walked the beach for two hours before his battered body rebelled and sent him tumbling to the ground.

His first night ashore was spent with a dry throat and an empty belly, surrounded by piles of dead brush, lulled to sleep by the waves.

* * *

The morning dawned bright and clear. Jared awoke with a raging thirst. He needed fresh water soon, or he would die.

He staggered down to the shoreline and dunked his head in the sea to bring himself to full wakefulness. The water was shallow, reaching only to his knees, and so clear he could see the bottom. Schools of fish darted here and there, dark shadows flashing beneath the surface, and Jared's stomach rumbled. He blinked and shook his head to clear the excess water from his hair, and set about looking for a sharp stick.

An hour later, drenched to the skin and with aching arms, Jared growled in frustration. The sun was fully risen now, and the warmth of the day was beginning to make his head pound. He was no closer to achieving either food or water, and the island still appeared deserted. Jared cast a final, longing look at the fish swimming just beyond his reach and decided perhaps it was time to go inland. He was clearly no fisherman; continuing his efforts here would net him nothing but wasted energy.

Hoisting his stick over his shoulder, Jared headed up the beach toward the trees. There must be water somewhere. He would find it.

* * *

After half an hour of trudging (and occasionally forcing) his way through the scrub, Jared found water by falling in it. He was following an abandoned track of some sort, eyes searching the horizon for some sign that he was not alone. He was expecting a river, or at least a stream; instead he stumbled into a natural spring quietly bubbling up out of the earth, forming a shallow pool. Jared fell to his knees and cupped his hands eagerly, trying to remember not to gulp. He must make sure it was potable, first; some brackishness was to be expected so close to the sea, but he was nearing desperation and his expectations were low.

It was warm and tasted of earth, but it was fresh. Jared closed his eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks. Then he scooped a little—a _very_ little—into his hands and sipped it, letting it trickle down his throat, washing away the harshness of salt. His belly rumbled, not entirely persuaded; Jared sat back on his heels and waited, and eventually his body acquiesced. He spent the next fifteen minutes rationing himself, no more than a swallow or two at a time, feeling his tissues expand and his strength return.

With that most urgent of needs sated, he had some attention to spare for the problem of finding food. Clearly he would need a method more suitable than a sharp stick to avail himself of some fish; equally clearly, he couldn't live on fish alone for as long as it might take for help to arrive. He didn't let himself think of what he would do if help did _not_ arrive; one problem at a time was plenty. There must be something edible growing on the island, even if it were only berries or a few tough greens. Jared took one final swallow of water and looked around, paying careful attention to his environment for the first time.

It wasn't terribly inspiring. The vegetation seemed to be universally low and rough, harsh grasses and scrubby bushes for the most part, clinging stubbornly in the sandy soil. Further inland the ground became marshy, almost swampy—he was on the verge of one such area, but in his thirst hadn't noticed anything but the spring. There were birds aplenty, but with no way to catch or cook them they might as well be a thousand feet above the earth.

Jared heaved a sigh and dragged himself upright. He was reluctant to leave the only source of water he knew, but he couldn't stay here. If there were people on the island, he needed to find them. Perhaps there were other survivors of the shipwreck wandering around. The upshot was, Jared knew he wouldn't last more than a few days unless he found help.

Momentarily restored, and with a set goal in mind, he tore a strip from his shirt hem (thanking providence that it was a bright, ungentlemanly red) and tied it to the tree branch nearest the spring. It would serve to mark its location and, given the flatness of the landscape, should be visible for some distance. Jared tucked the remainder of his shirt messily into his waistband, put the spring at his back and set forth, swinging his stick as he went.

* * *

He spent his second night ashore as he had the first, although with the added benefit of finding a second fresh water spring. His stomach ached with emptiness, preventing sleep, and Jared tossed uneasily in his makeshift bed of grass until the small hours of the morning.

* * *

On the third day, he found bananas. There was windfall lying on the faint track he was following; if not for that, he would have walked straight past the palm tree, never looking up to see hands upon hands of ripe fruit. Jared investigated the bunch on the ground first, and found several that had not yet gone over. He immediately sat down and began to devour them, trying not to squash the tender flesh in his eagerness. He'd never had occasion to eat a banana before; they were not cheap, and he'd always preferred apples, but now wasn't the time to be choosy. Jared ate until he was too full to stand up; seeing then that the sun was still high, he settled back for a nap, enjoying the feeling of being well-fed for the first time in days.

When he woke the sun was westering, and he was thirsty again. Jared sat up and looked around, seeking the signs of marshland that he was already coming to recognise: thicker grass, more trees, and a certain tang to the air that was both like and unlike the sea. Where there was marshland, there would be another spring. He felt immeasurably better after having eaten and slept, and even the prospect of a third night spent out in the open didn't unduly concern him. He was even whistling a little as he began walking again.

By the time he stumbled onto the beach once more, Jared was very far from whistling. He was hot and tired and covered in filth. The ocean glinted, jewel-blue and inviting; he made a beeline for it, desperate to be clean. The marshes were not _all_ easy to find; there was, for instance, the mostly-hidden example Jared had fallen headfirst into without even realising he was upon it. The mud had dried itchy and stiff on his skin and clothes, and all he wanted was to be rid of the stink of stagnant water and dirt.

He took his clothes off in the water and scrubbed them with handfuls of sand. Then he dunked his head and rubbed his scalp furiously, nearly groaning aloud at the sensation of cold, clean seawater. He stayed in the shallows for some twenty minutes, simply floating, ignoring the fact that he was hungry again.

The smell of smoke brought Jared rapidly to his feet. He stood hip-deep with his clothes grasped in one hand, staring at a spot about a hundred feet along the beach.

It was a hut. Small and sturdy-looking, on low stilts, set back above the tide line and roofed with bundles of the tough grasses that grew in the dunes. Its walls were made of tree branches and more woven grass; the front was mostly open facing the sea, except for a portion blocked off with canvas and a single small platform and rope to aid in levering oneself up onto the tiny porch. Jared blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again, but the hut didn't disappear. Neither did the man standing in front of it, tending some sort of rotisserie over an open fire.

Jared's stomach rumbled; fire meant food, and food was imperative. He started walking toward the stranger, almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry.

* * *

"Ahoy there!"

The man startled at Jared's call, looking around with a dark scowl on his face. The expression didn't change once he saw Jared; if anything it grew darker as he drew closer, until Jared was finally standing in front of him, dripping wet, facing something that looked like a human thundercloud. A very handsome thundercloud, Jared noted, though the thick ginger scruff on his face made it difficult to tell for certain. With the ease of long practice, he put the thought away.

"You have no idea how happy I am to meet you," Jared said with some relief. "I thought I was alone on this godforsaken spit." He smiled and held out his hand, shaking off the excess water. "Jared Padalecki, at your service."

"How did you get here?" the stranger asked. He didn't shake Jared's hand, and stayed well out of reach, watching him suspiciously.

"I was on a ship bound for the Antilles—Santo Domingo, actually," Jared said. "We were caught in a storm and blown off course, and the ship ran aground on some obstacle. I washed ashore a few days ago." He shrugged. "I don't even know where I am."

"Anegada," came the answer, absently. "The Virgin Islands. You're some hundred miles northeast of your original destination."

Jared heaved a sigh and dropped to the sand uninvited. He flicked wet hair out of his eyes and looked hopefully at his companion.

"Could you tell me where the nearest town is, then? Or show me? I need to contact my uncle in Santiago and tell him what's happened."

The stranger's frown deepened momentarily, then fell away into blankness.

"There is no town. There's nothing here but goats and pirates, and I doubt either will provide the assistance you require."

Jared stared at him in disbelief, but the stranger's face showed no hint of humour. He simply stared back without expression for a moment, then appeared to dismiss Jared from his mind entirely, returning to his dinner slowly roasting over the fire.

"But," Jared said after a few minutes, when he had gathered himself enough to speak. "You're here. How did you come to be here if there's no town?"

"I'm here _because_ there's no town," the stranger said bluntly. " _Homo sapiens_ is an annoying species and I prefer to avoid it whenever possible." His look indicated that Jared's presence was less than ideal. "If you wish to return to society, I suggest you build some sort of boat or raft and aim it that way." He reached out one muscular arm, pointing southwest without looking. "You'll most likely find aid on Tortola."

The stranger pulled his makeshift rotisserie off the fire and used a stick to push its contents onto a rough wooden plate. Jared eyed the sizzling meat with something akin to despair, aware that he must look something like a starving bedraggled dog.

"I, er, hate to ask," he started hesitantly, licking his lips, but he didn't get any further than that. He was interrupted by an irritated sigh.

"If I give you some of this, will you leave?"

"Yes," Jared said instantly. "Right away. I'll probably also name my firstborn child after you, assuming I ever sire any. And assuming you tell me your name."

The stranger didn't comment, but dumped half the meat into a square of sailcloth and dropped it into Jared's hands.

"There. You're welcome. Now go away."

So saying, he took the remainder of his meal and disappeared inside the hut, leaving Jared staring after him.

* * *

Although Jared waited patiently for several hours, the stranger didn't step outside his hut the following morning. Jared tried not to take it personally, but it was difficult when clearly the man had made himself quite at home here, and would probably have otherwise been out enjoying the admittedly beautiful weather if Jared weren't around. He eventually decided that lurking would gain him nothing; he would instead take the man's advice to heart and attempt to get off the island.

A raft, then, would appear to be the best option available. Jared knew very little about construction of any kind, but he had read _Robinson Crusoe_ as a boy and he had some idea of how to proceed. The only problem would appear to be the severe lack of any substantial wooded areas on the island. There were plenty of bushes and grasses, but only a few trees of any size and none that reached much above Jared's own head. He headed in the direction of those few anyway (although not straying far from the hut), hoping for deadwood that would serve his purpose.

Fortunately, the storm that washed him ashore seemed to have had an effect on the island also, and Jared found more usable wood than he had expected. Most of it was on the small side, branches barely longer than his arm, but Jared remembered the woven grass portions of the handsome stranger's hut, and he wondered if he could do something similar to make his raft more seaworthy. He'd need to harvest some trailing roots to use as binding.

The work proved frustrating. Without tools, Jared was forced to tear up roots and pull grasses with his bare hands, which were quickly scratched and torn. He made frequent trips to the shoreline to dip his hands in the sea, wincing at the salt sting but figuring it would help keep the wounds clean. He wrestled with the inflexible roots for an interminable period, his cursing growing louder and more inventive as the day wore on and the raft stubbornly refused to take shape.

Finally, with the sun high overhead and his aching hands throbbing, Jared sat back on his heels and admitted defeat. He surveyed his efforts, laid out in a sad pile in front of him: the poor beginnings of a raft, half the width he had envisioned, lashed inexpertly with roots, with a layer of flattened and bound grasses atop the whole. It looked barely able to support a child of six, let alone a man Jared's size.

He poked it disconsolately with a stick. At this rate it would take him a week to finish, and even then he had no real idea where he was going, or what to do when he arrived there. And he was hungry _again_ , damn it all.

"I've seen sorrier sights than the one before me right now," said a voice behind him, "but not often. What the hell are you doing?"

Jared turned around so fast he overbalanced, and ended sprawled on the sand at the stranger's feet. Looking up, he saw an amused quirk of lips pull that handsome face out of its customary scowl, but it was gone so fast he might have imagined it.

"Make some noise, would you?" Jared grumbled, righting himself. "My heart nearly jumped out of my chest."

"I'm terribly sorry. I wasn't aware being quiet was a crime. Although I should have guessed, judging by the extremely loud vocalisations coming from this general vicinity today." Green eyes narrowed at him. "The ones that woke me out of an extremely restful sleep."

Jared flushed, remembering his ever more colourful language as he wrestled with his task. He hadn't thought about that.

"I'm trying to make a raft," he admitted, indicating the sad results of his efforts. "It's not going very well. I'm not much good with my hands."

"I doubt that," the stranger muttered under his breath; Jared looked at him sharply, but received only a blank expression in response. "This will never support your weight, you realise."

"I had come to that conclusion, yes." Jared sighed. "Perhaps I should find those pirates you spoke of and throw myself on their mercy."

"They're pirates. They have no mercy," the stranger said bluntly. "You'd find yourself dead or worse before the day was out." He walked around the raft, squinting at it and making small humming noises of consideration. "I believe this can be salvaged. You haven't done too badly, really."

Jared looked up, hope flaring to life as he met the stranger's eyes. They were very green, he noticed; greener than the island grasses, although wary and not terribly warm.

"Do you think so?" he asked. "I don't want to put my faith in something that will fall apart when I'm five miles out to sea."

"Your confidence in me is astounding," came the sarcastic answer, and Jared raised an eyebrow.

"You're a stranger," he pointed out. "How can I have confidence in you if I don't even know your name?"

There was an impatient sigh, then the other man took a step forward and took Jared's shoulders, hauling him to his feet. He took Jared's right hand a gave it a brisk shake.

"Dr Jensen Ackles, naturalist," he said, with a long-suffering air. "Pleasure to meet you. Now do you want some help or not?"

* * *

The work went much easier with Jensen's help. Jared was frankly amazed at how quickly the raft came together under his direction, changing from a glorified heap of wood and grass into something that looked like a proper raft in the space of a few hours. Jensen showed him how to plait lengths of grass together to make a rudimentary rope, which they then wound about with the tough roots Jared had collected to strengthen it. Jensen also produced a small hand-axe from his hut, and they took turns hacking down a small tree he identified as a loblolly pine. The careful splitting and cutting of its trunk yielded a number of sturdy lengths that provided a solid foundation.

While they worked, he did his best to draw Jensen out, curious to learn more about him. Jensen mostly gave only short answers to his queries, discouraging conversation; they nevertheless worked well together, and Jared did manage to glean a few details.

"What does a naturalist do, exactly?" he asked, flicking sweat-damp hair away from his face. "I take it you aren't a medical doctor."

"As it happens, I am," Jensen corrected, pausing in his work. He stretched his back, arching and twisting until it gave a series of cracks that made Jared wince in sympathy, while ignoring the appealing picture thus presented. "Natural history was a hobby of mine from childhood. Now it's my main occupation."

"And you live here? Permanently?" Jared shook his head at Jensen's shrug. "How do you stand it? Being away from other people, I mean."

"Stand it?" Jensen's smile was sharp-edged, showing teeth. "I believe I mentioned yesterday that I don't particularly like other people. It's a relief to be away from human society. I should ask how you can stand to be around other people all the time."

"You seem to be interacting just fine with me," Jared pointed out.

"You're temporary, and you need my help," Jensen said. "I'm not incapable of social interaction; I just prefer to avoid it. Here, I can progress my research and live as I wish and nobody gives a damn."

"If you say so. It just seems kind of ... lonely to me, that's all." Jared shrugged and went back to plaiting grass together.

Jensen's words stayed with him throughout the afternoon. He found himself glancing at the other man every so often, looking for signs that he was becoming irritated or unhappy in Jared's company. To the contrary, Jensen seemed perfectly comfortable, both with the situation and in himself; he was obviously (very obviously) in good physical condition, and content with the life he'd made here. Jared couldn't imagine being cut off from everything he knew like this, but Jensen evidently liked it just fine. Their differences only increased his curiosity about the man, but Jensen gave up few answers to his conversational efforts after that, and they lapsed into silence for a time.

When the work was finally done, Jared felt almost optimistic about the prospect of sailing to Tortola. They'd fashioned a makeshift sail from Jensen's spare canvas, and it now adorned the centre of the raft, square-rigged and secured to a short mast. He wouldn't get much use out of it if the wind changed, but combined with the steering oar Jensen had created and lashed to the stern, it would hopefully get him the thirty nautical miles to Tortola.

"I suggest you wait until morning," Jensen said, eyeing the darkening sky. "The trip will be hard enough without trying to navigate in the dark."

"I wouldn't know where to begin, anyway," Jared said. "My plan essentially boils down to 'head southwest until I see land', which requires daylight for success."

Jensen's mouth quirked again in one of those lightning-fast expressions of amusement. Jared had managed to surprise one or two such near-smiles from him during the day, a flash of white teeth amidst the red-gold of his beard, and the sight of it now ignited a familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach. He really was an extraordinarily attractive man. Jared wondered what he looked like clean-shaven; what he looked like when he smiled and meant it.

"Thank you for your help," he said suddenly. "You could have left me to fend for myself, but you didn't, and I'm grateful."

"Oh, shut up," Jensen said, and Jared snapped his mouth shut. "I did what any decent human being would do, that's all. Your gratitude is neither expected nor welcomed."

"Oh."

Jared flushed and turned away, looking westward across the island. The sun was beginning to set in a riot of colour, from brilliant orange to soft pink, darkening to grey and midnight blue at the edges. The land was so flat he had an almost clear view of the western sky; the sight was beautiful enough to ease the irrational hurt he felt.

There was a long moment of silence, and then he heard Jensen sigh.

"Sea turtles are so much easier." Then, "Come on, I'm hungry. You can thank me for feeding you, if you like."

Jared turned around and saw Jensen watching him with an impatient expression that nonetheless held no irritation. He offered a small smile and got a jerk of the head in return. Jensen left the dune where they'd been working and started back toward his hut. Jared hesitated for a moment, unsure, then shook his head and followed. Whether Jensen really wanted him there or not, he'd offered food, and Jared was ravenous.

* * *

Jensen provided some sort of salted meat for their evening meal, along with coconuts, bananas and a strange fruit he called a tamarind. Jared eyed it all with disbelief—the island seemed utterly inhospitable to him, but Jensen was indeed apparently living here just fine.

"How do you find all of this?" he asked as they ate. "The fruit, all right, you know what to look for, but the meat?"

"I'm not stupid, Jared," Jensen said with another of those amused quirks. "I brought a gun. When I run out of meat I find one of the wild goats or cattle, and salt what I can't keep fresh." He pointed at the sea with his knife hand. "There's plenty of fish, and lobster, too. And I have a small rice field not far away."

"How long have you been here?"

Jensen looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm not sure. What year is it?"

"1821," Jared said. "June fourteenth, to be precise."

"Three years, then," Jensen said. When Jared looked at him askance, Jensen shrugged. "I like it here."

"I can see that," Jared admitted. "It's just difficult for me to understand, that's all. I can't imagine being away from everyone I love for so long."

Even as he said it, Jared knew he wasn't being entirely forthcoming. He had after all been on board a ship doing exactly that, until the storm had intervened and left him here. The difference was, he supposed, that it hadn't really been Jared's decision. He hadn't wanted to leave; it was a compromise for his parents' sake, to save them embarrassment. Jared had been angry—still was angry, if he were honest—but he'd agreed. Leaving of his own accord would never have occurred to him; he loved his family too much.

Perhaps that was one of Jensen's reasons, he mused. Not everyone had loved ones to keep them in one place, or oblige them to conform to behaviour they'd otherwise disdain. It was a curious kind of freedom, but Jensen was obviously thriving, and Jared couldn't feel pity in the face of that. Too, there was the fact that he was beginning to see why Jensen was so content here. The island was small and desolate and not particularly welcoming, but it was beautiful and peaceful, and while the living might be hard it would provide a sense of accomplishment rarely obtained in modern life. Jared could respect that.

"It's fortunate you don't have to contemplate such a thing, then," Jensen said, pulling Jared out of his reverie. "No doubt your family will be so relieved at your safe return you'll find it difficult to separate yourself from them again."

He appeared uncomfortable contemplating the very idea. Jared couldn't help but laugh.

"It's not that bad," he assured him. "They weren't expecting to see me again for some time, so I doubt there'll be any swooning or clutching of pearls."

Jensen cocked an eyebrow, but didn't ask for details, and Jared let it lie. He wasn't keen to explain exactly why he'd been on that ship in the first place, and there was really no point in it now, when he was leaving in the morning.

They passed the rest of the meal in companionable silence, gazing out over the sea. Jared watched the sky darken to velvet black, studded with stars, a sickle moon hanging low amidst a bank of cloud. A warm breeze stirred his hair, bringing the scent of sea and wet earth from the swamps—mangroves, Jensen called them. Jared breathed in deep and held it, letting it out slowly. Yes, it was very peaceful here.

He turned to Jensen, to say he understood after all, and found Jensen already watching him. The expression on his face was guarded, but the look in his eyes—

Jared jerked his gaze away and stared at his feet. His heart thumped hard in his chest, and it was a struggle to keep his breathing even. He licked suddenly dry lips and swallowed.

"I'll say goodnight now," he said, carefully even. "Tomorrow will be a hard day."

"Yes," Jensen's tone was indecipherable. "I think that's probably best."

Jared nodded and stood up, not daring to look in Jensen's direction again. He paused at the entrance to the hut and said, facing the beach, "Thank you. I know you don't want to hear it, but I _am_ grateful. And I like to tell my friends that I appreciate them."

There was a moment of silence, and a slight scuffing sound behind him. Jared waited for an answer; when none was forthcoming, he nodded half to himself and took a step forward onto the tiny porch.

Jensen's hand on his shoulder stopped him. He didn't turn around, and Jensen didn't make him; they simply stood there together for the space of ten heartbeats, Jensen's grip on him sure and firm, warm through the thin cotton of his shirt. Finally Jensen sighed and squeezed his shoulder, then let go.

"Good night, Jared," he said quietly. "Sleep well."

Jared nodded again and swung himself down to the sand. He began walking immediately, not looking back, heading to where they'd left the raft. He'd sleep there and get an early start in the morning. He felt Jensen's eyes on him all the way.

* * *

The morning dawned steely-blue and blustering, thin clouds whipping through the sky and dulling the sun's usual brilliance. Jared slept later than he intended, and woke to the _thump_ of something heavy hitting the sand near where he lay. He opened his eyes and saw Jensen with a pile of supplies at his feet, sweating lightly despite the slight chill in the air.

It was one of the better sights he'd ever woken up to.

"You need to get up," Jensen said without preamble. "Weather's turning. The wind will help you, but only if you take advantage of it before the storm hits."

Jared sat up and ran his hands over his face, trying to clear his mind of sleep. Jensen waited patiently while he dragged himself to the shoreline and back, dunking his head in the water to wake up properly.

"All right," Jared said. "How do we get the raft into the water?"

Jensen snorted. "I think we can manage it between us, don't you?" he said, and moved to one side of the raft. Jared took a moment to catch on, then went to the opposite side and crouched, ready to lift at Jensen's word.

"Go," Jensen said, and they both heaved upward.

The raft was heavy, but not unmanageable; they got it down to the water and lowered it just inside the tide-line where the sand was still wet. Jensen went back for the supplies he'd brought—water and food for the journey, which he estimated would take around six hours.

"The wind is generally southeasterly at this time of year," he said. "The sail is rigged at an angle to catch as much of the wind as possible, but you must still be careful—if the wind picks up you could catch a wave and capsize." He cast a worried look to the west, gnawing at his bottom lip. "There are coral reefs all around the island, but you should be able to sail over them."

Jared felt a warmth run through him at Jensen's obvious concern. He took the cured goatskin water containers and the wrapped parcel of food and lashed them securely to the mast, then stepped off the raft and came to stand at Jensen's shoulder.

"I'll be all right," he said. "It's only thirty miles, and it's a straight line. You said so yourself."

Jensen glanced at him, then went back to chewing on his lip. Jared smothered a wild impulse to embrace him, clapping him on the shoulder instead.

"Help me get this in the water," he said. "Time's wasting."

They pushed the raft the few remaining feet into the sea, where it bobbed gently on the incoming waves. It floated easily, giving Jared an absurd feeling of pride.

"Good luck," Jensen said finally, when Jared was standing with one foot on the raft, ready to leave. And then, in a shockingly raw tone, "For God's sake, be careful."

Jared hefted the long pole they had made for navigating through the shallows, saluting Jensen with it.

"I will," he said. "I'll send word once I reach civilisation."

Jensen nodded, and stepped into the water to push him off. Jared poled his way out about thirty feet, riding the small waves with little difficulty, feeling the sea bottom fall away with every push. Once the pole became useless he tied it to the raft, freeing the steering oar and angling it in the same direction as the sail. The wind caught the small vessel and pushed it forward, further out to sea.

When he looked back Jensen was already a tiny dot on the beach, featureless and unmoving. Jared lifted a hand in farewell; after a moment Jensen mirrored the movement, and stayed that way until Jared looked away. He set his sights on the open water in front of him, feeling very alone.

* * *

When the storm hit an hour later Jared wanted to laugh. He found himself unable to, however, being that he was currently occupied with staying upright and afloat as wave after wave broke over the raft without cease. The rising wind caught in the sail and made it creak alarmingly. Jared clung to the mast for dear life, praying it would hold; he spared one hand to work at the knots holding the sail to the yards, thinking to make a reef. The grass lines proved too slick and swollen to work free, and he was left with bleeding fingertips when he finally gave up.

The winds intensified, tossing the raft to and fro, the waves climbing ever higher; Jared heard a sharp crack of wood and felt the raft shudder as the steering oar gave way, and the raft lost what little stability it had.

The last thing he remembered seeing was a grey-green wall of water bearing down on him directly overhead. He thought, _Not again,_ and tried his best to hold his breath, and then all was darkness.

* * *

He felt cold, wet sand under his cheek and warm hands on his back, moving down over his arms and legs. There was a quiet voice whispering panicked words that made no sense, and then pain when the hands tried to lift him. Barely conscious, Jared let out a moan that was harshly silenced by one of the hands slapping over his mouth.

"Shh," came the whispering voice again, directly in his ear. "I'm sorry, Jared, but I have to move you and we must be quiet. Do you understand?"

Jared swallowed and nodded, and the hand fell away. He tried to get his arms under him, coughing up seawater as he did so; those helpful hands supported him as he fought his way to his knees, swaying on all fours for a moment while his head stopped spinning.

When Jared finally opened his eyes he saw that it was night, and he'd once again washed up on a beach. Then he looked again and saw why there was a need for caution: less than fifty yards away a large bonfire burned, its light clearly showing the schooner anchored at the far end of the beach. There were men gathered around the fire, passing bottles and conversing loudly in French. Jared didn't need to look too hard to see that they weren't exactly gentlemen.

He eased back onto his haunches, taking slow breaths. The hands that were supporting him let go, and his saviour moved around from behind him to his right side, shielding him from the fire.

"Can you stand?" Jensen asked. "We should move before we attract their attention."

Jared nodded again. Jensen got a shoulder under his arm and helped to heave Jared to his feet; he swayed again momentarily, and Jensen put an arm across his chest to keep him from keeling over. His bearded cheek brushed Jared's neck, raising a rush of goosebumps; his hand rested on Jared's heart.

"I'm fine," Jared rasped. "Let's go."

He made it inside the treeline before he collapsed, his knees simply giving way. Jensen caught him and lowered him to the ground, propping himself against a tree and dragging Jared half into his lap.

"Rest," he said. "We'll go on when you feel better."

He was stroking Jared's hair and his lap was warm and comfortable, and Jared was too battered and exhausted to argue. He let himself relax, sinking into Jensen's body and slipping back into unconsciousness almost instantly.

* * *

He slid in and out of awareness, waking to find himself stumbling along the beach tucked against Jensen's side, then blacking out again and repeating the cycle. It was probably only an hour, but it felt like days before they made it back to Jensen's hut. Jared tried to help as Jensen hoisted him onto the porch, but he ended up more or less rolling onto it and then lay there, utterly drained, his entire body a single fiery ache.

"Inside," Jensen said, and Jared crawled indoors. Jensen pointed at a pile of blankets and skins in the corner—Jensen's own bed—and Jared fell into it, half asleep before his eyes closed.

He felt Jensen's fingers in his wet hair for a moment, and then sleep claimed him for good.

* * *

Time passed in a blur.

There was a deep, constant pain in his leg that would not cease, and a duller, more pervasive ache low in his chest. Jared woke up hot, then deathly cold, then hot again, fever burning its way through his body and chills rattling every bone he possessed.

He heard Jensen's voice in the accompanying delirium, felt his hands restraining and soothing by turns; it was reassuring to know that Jensen was near, that Jared wasn't alone. He tried to speak but his voice had deserted him, leaving him able to groan and cry out but unable to form words.

He rested infrequently, his sleep wracked with dreams of drowning, and woke often to feel Jensen stroking his hair.

* * *

Jared eased gradually into wakefulness. Sounds filtered in first: wind and waves, the faint rustle of grass, the quiet flapping of canvas. Sensation was next: the warmth and softness of blankets, the slightly rough texture of animal skin, the sense of hard wooden flooring underneath. Thirst followed, harsh and immediate, and it was this last that caused Jared to surface from sleep and reluctantly open his eyes.

It was twilight; the hazy light of the early-risen moon was almost too bright. Jared blinked to clear his vision and raised his head, looking around. He was in Jensen's hut; he remembered that much, the stumbling walk from the beach to get here, Jensen's support keeping him upright and moving. He was vague on the rest of it, but he knew there'd been a fever, and he remembered Jensen's hands in his hair.

Jensen himself lay beside Jared a few feet away. He was deeply asleep, with a sack of something or other for a pillow and a single blanket over him for warmth. Jared watched his chest move steadily in slumber, then moved his gaze up to his face. Jensen looked exhausted, dark rings under his eyes visible even in the dim light, lines of worry etched deep around his mouth. He was sleeping peacefully, however, and Jared stayed still so as not to disturb him.

There was a waterskin lying next to him. Jared reached for it and drank as much as he dared, easing the fire in his throat. He felt weak and supposed that must be the aftereffects of the fever. More sleep felt at once ridiculous and necessary, but either way he wasn't strong enough to resist.

Before he closed his eyes again, he stretched out one hand and found Jensen's, twining their fingers together. The feeling it evoked in him followed him into sleep.

He didn't dream of drowning.

* * *

The next day Jared managed to sit up unaided, and counted this as an accomplishment. He was still tired, but he stayed lucid and his appetite was returning. This latter pleased Jensen, who told him he hadn't eaten for three days.

"Take it slowly," he instructed, giving Jared a small bowl of rice with coconut milk. "Your stomach will need to get used to digesting food again, and I assume you don't want to lose that as soon as you've eaten it."

"You assume correctly," Jared agreed. His torso was badly bruised and lacerated, and Jensen suspected cracked ribs; he must have collided with the raft when the wave hit, or else when he went overboard.

"How are you feeling?"

Jared searched for an appropriate answer. "Sore," he said finally. "Weak as a newborn. Starving. Tired. Alive. And very happy to be so."

Jensen put a hand on his forehead, searching for fever.

"You had a rough time of it," he said. "You should rest after you've eaten."

"Don't worry," Jared replied. "I think sleeping will be my main activity for a while." He looked around. "Though perhaps it would be better if I moved somewhere else. You must be wanting your bed back."

"Don't be stupid," Jensen said sharply. "You'll stay exactly where you are until you're well. Is that clear?"

"Doctor's orders, is it?" Jared asked, smiling at Jensen's outrage. "All right, then. I just don't want to be in your way."

"If you were in my way I'd have left you on the beach," Jensen snapped. "Now shut up and eat. _Slowly_."

"In a moment." Jared tilted his head. "How did you know where to find me?"

Jensen stiffened and flushed under his beard, eyes cutting downward to avoid Jared's gaze. Jared simply waited with an unwavering gaze, curious to know what was making his host so uncomfortable. Jensen's entire attitude was puzzling, to say the least—gone was the grudging hospitality of before, replaced by rough words and gentle handling, and still no glimpse of what Jensen was actually feeling. It was enough to drive a man to distraction.

"It was the wind," Jensen muttered finally. "I knew the waves off the reef would capsize the raft, and I estimated where you'd most likely come ashore … if you survived." He darted a glance at Jared's face, his own downturned, fingers twisting briefly in his shirt. "I got there as fast as I could."

"Jensen …"

Jared was thunderstruck. Jensen had saved his life and was nursing him back to health, despite Jared being nothing but trouble and inconvenience, and it sounded like he was trying to _apologise_.

Jared put aside the bowl and reached out, laying his hand on Jensen's shoulder. A tremor went through Jensen's body at the touch, almost as if he wanted to shake Jared off, but he didn't move. Jared squeezed once, then let go.

"Don't worry, I won't say it," he said. "You only did what any decent human being would do, right? Well, all I'm saying is you're the most _decent_ person I've ever met. I'd be dead if not for you, and don't you think for a second I don't know that."

"That's not why I—" Jensen started, then he turned a deep crimson and cut himself off.

He was up and outside before Jared drew another breath, standing at the porch railing, hands clenched around it. Jared watched him while he ate, small fingerfuls of milky rice that made his stomach rumble in appreciation. Jensen stood there like a statue for several minutes with his back to Jared, presenting a stiff, forbidding picture. Then he cast a single glance around and growled something Jared didn't hear, and headed down the beach.

Jared smiled to himself and continued eating, settling down afterward to sleep.

* * *

Jared regained his strength rapidly. He spent the next few days abed, sleeping and eating and surreptitiously watching Jensen. He moved out onto the porch on the third day, which enabled him to see Jensen engaged in the task of catching lobster for their dinner.

He'd set traps at various points along the beach, marked with lengths of wood; as these were set some little way off shore, checking the catch required a degree of immersion in the water. Jared found he very much enjoyed the whole process, but most especially the moments when Jensen walked ashore, shirtless and streaming water, grasping a crustacean in each hand. He either didn't notice Jared's staring or ignored it, but either way made no mention of it, which freed Jared to continue to watch. Before, Jared would have tried to keep his glances short and subtle, repressing his interest, but after nearly drowning twice in the space of a week he didn't care so much about discretion. He _was_ interested in Jensen, and he couldn't think of a reason not to show it.

His ankle was twisted rather badly, and several days passed before it would bear his weight. Jensen fashioned a crutch of sorts to help him move easily around. Once Jared was strong enough, he explored every corner of Jensen's little settlement. He was amazed at what he saw. Jensen hadn't been joking when he said he was here permanently; he had a well for fresh water, a rack for stretching and curing animal skins and another for smoking meat and fish, covered by a canvas tent. When he asked, Jensen gave him directions to nearby fruit trees, and Jared came back bearing awkward armfuls of coconut, banana and tamarind, feeling ridiculously pleased at Jensen's surprise.

"I'm not just a pretty face, you know," he said, and laughed aloud at the embarrassed scowl he got in return.

Jensen remained tight-lipped about himself for the most part, but was willing to discuss his studies. He made no mention of Jared leaving again, or even of evicting him from the hut. Jared didn't pursue the issue—mainly because he was guiltily pleased that Jensen appeared to like having him around. He took to walking around the island, much more confident now that he knew where he was and could keep his bearings, and returned each time feeling better for the exercise.

Ten days or so passed in this way, and Jared could barely remember how lonely and harsh the island had seemed when he first arrived. He felt comfortable here, and was learning to appreciate its wild beauty.

He was also gaining a completely different (but infinitely more powerful) appreciation for the male beauty right in front of him. Jensen was a healthy man in the prime of his life, and Jared took every opportunity that presented itself to observe him as he went about his day. It quickly became his favourite pastime. He made no effort to hide his regard and Jensen seemed not to mind, beyond offering him a carefully guarded look in return now and then.

Jared found himself well content with this state of affairs. He occasionally itched to touch the smooth golden skin so often on show, but he was accustomed to curtailing those impulses—although they had never been so strong before, nor so constant. He spent many pleasurable hours imagining what Jensen's face looked like under the prickly-soft scruff of his beard, wondering if he sought to hide an imperfection or if it were simply a matter of convenience. Certainly the beard never seemed to get any longer, which meant Jensen must at least trim it regularly, but Jared never observed him at this task.

And if in the dark of night he thought about the tingling feel of that beard against his skin, remembering that single flaring moment when he'd been too exhausted and ill to really appreciate it ... well, Jensen didn't need to know.

* * *

"Why turtles?" he asked idly one day, half out of boredom. "And why come all the way out here to study them?"

Jensen was gutting fish in preparation for smoking it. He looked at Jared with raised eyebrows, filleting knife paused in midair.

"It would be somewhat difficult to make an accurate study of creatures that live in the ocean without actually seeing them in their native habitat," he pointed out. "The sea turtle population in Texas isn't exactly booming."

"Don't be an ass," Jared said. "You know what I mean. You're a doctor and, knowing you, probably an excellent one. I'm just curious about ... well, about you. What is it about sea turtles that makes coming out here worthwhile?"

Jensen was silent for a long time, continuing to gut and fillet his catch. Jared waited without fidgeting, seeing the small crease between Jensen's brows that meant he was deep in thought, considering his answer. He contented himself with watching Jensen's hands, competently moving in neat, efficient motions.

"It isn't sea turtles, per se," Jensen said at last. "It's nature itself that draws me. The ..." He waved one hand at their surroundings. "All this: the trees, the sea, the wildlife—it's fascinating, how it all works so harmoniously together, everything in balance. It's so plain to see when you live like this, right in the middle of it. City living doesn't lend itself to a proper appreciation of what nature has to offer." He shrugged. "I had nothing keeping me there, so I just ... left."

"And the turtles?" Jared smiled. "Where do they fit into this harmony and balance? They always seemed a bit unwieldy to me."

Jensen flicked his dripping knife at him. "So amusing," he deadpanned. "That comment only shows how grossly uneducated you are. Turtles may be slow and clumsy on land, but in the ocean they're quite beautiful. They have their place just like everything else." He pointed to the south. "There's a beach on the other end of the island where they come to lay their eggs. Mating season has barely begun, but if you were to happen across the sight of a hatching in progress I promise you'd be left speechless."

His voice softened as he spoke, losing the slight hesitance he always seemed to have when addressing Jared directly. His enthusiasm was clear to see in his face and gestures, becoming expansive and impassioned as he expounded on his love of natural history. Jared found himself fascinated, admittedly less by the subject matter than by the speaker. Jensen was an animated and engaging lecturer even to Jared, who until this very moment had no interest in the natural world, or anything outside of his own immediate sphere.

He had the fleeting thought that Jensen would be a commanding speaker if he were ever to deliver a proper lecture on the subject. Most people of Jared's acquaintance were loquacious in private but became clamlike when faced with public speaking; it only stood to reason that Jensen would, perversely and typically, prove to be the exact opposite. Jared was fast coming to understand that Jensen was the exception to many of the things he'd previously held to be normal and true.

* * *

Two days later Jared tripped over Jensen's sketchbook, which had fallen from its place in the rudimentary bookshelf over the bed. He bent down to pick it up, its pages ruffling in the breeze, and his eye caught a familiar sight as the paper slipped through his fingers. Opening the page, he forgot that he was essentially violating Jensen's privacy in the face of what he was seeing.

It was his own hand, rendered in plain India ink, shockingly stark against the white background. The sketch was extremely detailed, complete with contouring and shading, even so far as to capture the fine hairs covering Jared's wrist and forearm, at which point the drawing ended. Jared stared for some time in honest admiration of the talent Jensen exhibited before he realised what it signified.

Jensen must have been watching his hands very closely to be able to produce such a faithful representation. Jared felt his face grow hot at the idea. At the same time he couldn't suppress a small pleased smile. His fascination was apparently not as one-sided as he'd thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Inevitably, something happened to spoil their growing serenity.

Jared was out on one of his long afternoon rambles, ranging farther away from Jensen's camp than he'd gone before. He was in excellent spirits; Jensen had taught him how to fish, and he'd begun to earn his keep by catching their breakfast and cooking it himself. Jensen had been, he thought, pleasantly surprised, if the warm look in his eyes was any indication.

He'd set off after lunch without any definite goal in mind; he simply walked, a waterskin slung over one shoulder and a hat of woven grass to keep the sun off. It was good to be able to move around freely again, and he revelled in it, taking long strides and swinging his arms just because he could. Flocks of wild birds took wing as he approached them, at least ten different species from what he could tell, and he made a note to ask Jensen what they were. Especially the large pink ones with the long, slender legs. He'd never seen anything like them.

Lost in contemplation of his surroundings, Jared barely noticed as the sun began to sink toward the west. He refilled his waterskin at a spring and continued on, frowning thoughtfully at his boots, which were cracked and worn. He'd have to see about buying a new pair when he returned home. Or perhaps he could do as Jensen did, and go barefoot—though that would cause something of a stir in Galveston, he was sure.

Thoughts of home led to thoughts of Jensen in the city. Jared wondered what he was like in such a setting—quiet and withdrawn? Impatient and caustic? He could imagine the latter, with the added secret thrill of seeing Jensen dressed as a gentleman. Jared shook his head and laughed aloud at his daydreaming, but he couldn't deny the idea was appealing.

He was almost upon the pirate encampment before he saw it. Jared started when he saw how far he'd come; dusk was fast approaching, and it would take him hours to return. He edged back behind the treeline and watched the pirates gathered around their bonfire.

They were a ragged looking bunch of disparate nationality: he could hear English, French, Spanish, and something he thought might be Dutch, each man talking over the top of his neighbour without seeming to care who listened. They were bearded, filthy and hard-looking men one and all, and Jared sent a prayer of thanks heavenward that Jensen found him when he washed ashore the second time.

A fight broke out between three men as he stood there, pondering Jensen's actions. His ears filtered out the noise, warmth rising in his chest at the reminder that Jensen had been out looking for him, hope springing anew at the thought of what that might mean. Jared stood unmoving, lost in this revelation, until the clash of steel upon steel and a distinctly feminine shriek brought his attention sharply back to the beach.

The fight had clearly escalated; the men were now split in two groups on either side of the fire, growling and snarling menacingly at each other like two packs of feral dogs. One of the men stood forth with sword drawn and his meaty hand clamped around the arm of a girl who couldn't be more than sixteen years old. Her blonde hair was loose and bedraggled, and her face was blank with terror, streaked with dirt and tears. She looked to have been dragged out of her bed, for she wore only a long nightgown, with the shredded remains of a robe fluttering from her shoulders.

Her captor shouted in a harsh voice, "If you can't shut yer fuckin' mouths about it, I'll cut 'er throat right now!"

He shoved her to her knees and grabbed a fistful of blonde hair, yanking her head back and exposing a long, pale throat. The girl let out a low moan and swayed as the pirate holding her put the edge of his blade against her skin.

Jared drew in a fast breath and looked around him for something to help, some way to get her free, but there was nothing. He was one man against twenty, and he was unarmed. If he went out there now he'd only end up dead along with her.

His jaw clenched as the men continued to shout and grumble and argue, though the murderous intent appeared to have left them. The girl's keeper dragged her to her feet again and shoved her toward the dinghy bobbing at anchor a few feet into the water, clearly intending to take her to the ship. Jared hoped she'd be safer there than on the beach for as long as it took him to get Jensen and return.

By the time he was in sight of the hut, Jared was exhausted. He had no idea how far he'd walked, but it was at least six hours since he'd set off and he was hungry and footsore. He trudged wearily along the beach, head down, trying to formulate a rescue plan before the girl met a doubtless gruesome end.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?"

Jared looked up and saw Jensen in front of him, chest heaving and wearing an expression of pure fury. He looked ahead and saw a trail of footprints leading from the hut to where Jensen currently stood, looking as though he were barely restraining himself from physical violence. Looking closer, squinting in the near darkness, Jared ascertained hints of worry beneath the anger. His heart fluttered momentarily and he had to smother a smile.

Jensen had apparently missed him, then.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to be away for so long. I was thinking, and I didn't realise how far I'd walked."

He put as much contrition into the words as he could, and was relieved to see Jensen's face soften somewhat. He stopped heaving for breath and fell into step beside Jared, staying silent but casting glances at him every few seconds as though assuring himself that Jared was actually there. Jared found it very endearing. It was further evidence that Jensen harboured feelings of more warmth than he was letting on.

"Where were you?" Jensen asked at last, once they were inside the hut. He was putting a meal together as he spoke, dishing up portions of dried fish, fruit and a sort of flat rice bread made with salt and animal fat and fried over the fire. Jared took the food, a large banana leaf serving as his plate, and spoke in between hasty bites.

"I wasn't really paying attention," he said. "I was just walking, and thinking about … well, it doesn't signify what I was thinking about." He looked away from Jensen's curious glance, trying not to flush. "In any case, I didn't notice the time passing."

He paused there, thinking of how to broach the topic of a daring rescue. Jensen let out an impatient noise.

"And?" he prompted. "Whatever you're trying to say politely, out with it. I have no love for social niceties."

"All right, then." Jared cleared his throat. "I was at the pirates' camp. They have a hostage, a young girl, and I want to rescue her."

Jensen stared at him for so long Jared wondered if he'd heard. Then he wondered if he'd actually spoken aloud. He opened his mouth to repeat his words, but Jensen chose that moment to finally speak.

"Are you insane?"

He didn't sound angry. His tone was conversational, as if he'd asked whether Jared preferred tea or coffee. But Jared could see the signs of agitation in him (flushed skin, narrowed eyes, the harsh tightening of the lines by his mouth), and he wasn't a fool.

"I know it sounds rash—" he began.

"Rash?" Jensen uttered a laugh with no humour in it whatsoever. "That's one word for it. 'Suicidal' is another. What on earth are you thinking?"

"I am thinking," Jared said, gritting his teeth, "of freeing a helpless girl from a band of cutthroats. _Literally_ , in case you were wondering. One of them nearly cut her throat while I watched."

"Chances are she's probably dead already, then," Jensen pointed out. "They don't keep hostages, unless they can get a hefty ransom. And they'd probably do the same to you if you went anywhere near them."

He didn't sound at all concerned about the matter, his momentary ire already fading. Jared's own anger began to flare up, however, causing him to stop eating altogether. He put his makeshift dinner aside, leaning forward into Jensen's space.

"If we don't try to help her, we're no better than them," he said. "Worse, in fact, because we have an opportunity to stop evil instead of participating in it."

"Stop evil?" Jensen seemed almost mocking, although there was a bitterly serious edge to his words. "Really? You think the two of us, armed with a single musket, an axe and the might of righteousness can prevail against twenty or more motherless bastards who'd as soon spit you as look at you?" He shook his head. "It'd mean our deaths as well as hers, Jared. Believe me, these men are not the type to listen to reason."

Jared glared at him, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach that told him Jensen was probably right. He couldn't just forget about the whole thing; he knew if he tried, he'd never sleep soundly again. The girl's terrified moans would haunt his dreams for as long as he lived.

"I can't just do nothing," he pleaded. "I can't leave her there to be violated or killed without at least trying. And I—I can't do it alone."

They sat there for a moment, looking at each other, until finally Jensen sighed.

"No, I suppose you can't," he said. "If I let you go off alone you'll probably get yourself captured as well, and then I'd have to rescue both of you."

Jared slumped in relief once the reluctant agreement in Jensen's words sank in. He exhaled a shaky breath and smiled, reaching out and touching Jensen's hand.

"Thank you," he said. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I just. I have to try. She's just a girl, Jensen. She can't be more than sixteen. She doesn't deserve to die like that."

"All right," Jensen said irritably. "I've already said I'll help you; there's no need to tug on my heartstrings. We'll discuss it in the morning." He squeezed Jared's hand quickly, belying his words, and let go. "I'm tired. I think I'll turn in."

Jared's own fatigue was threatening to topple him where he sat. He finished eating as quickly as he decently could and went back down to the beach to perform his evening ablutions. When he returned Jensen was already abed—in his own nest of blankets, which Jared had been unfairly appropriating for a week or more. But when he looked around, Jared saw an identical jumble of skins and wool laid out against the opposite wall of the hut. The sight warmed him immeasurably, and he couldn't contain a smile. He glanced in Jensen's direction once more and caught the glitter of Jensen's open eyes, just briefly, before they closed again.

Determination bore Jared down into sleep. Tomorrow they'd set about freeing that poor girl. With Jensen's help, he was confident they couldn't help but succeed.

* * *

Later, Jared never liked to remember the details of that day. It was all there with crystal clarity, however; the matter-of-fact way Jensen had planned the attack, their stealthy approach behind the treeline, the swell of excitement in Jared's gut as he fingered the trigger of Jensen's musket. Jensen himself was carrying his swordstick: a cane made of unassuming beech wood which concealed a wickedly sharp blade. It was little enough to vanquish a den of cutthroats, but they had to try.

They were in luck; the pirates' nest was mostly abandoned, the schooner absent from the bay. There were only two men on the beach, both sitting at their ease outside a tiny slapped-together shack set back against the trees. They were clearly meant to be guarding it, which could only mean that the girl was inside. Jared exchanged a look with Jensen and grinned. Their task might be easier than they'd imagined.

He followed Jensen through the brush, approaching the men from behind as quietly as possible. Jensen motioned for him to stay still and be ready, unsheathing his blade and creeping silently forward until he stood just behind the guards, ready to strike.

It all might have gone so very differently, if Jared hadn't tripped.

He was merely shifting his weight in readiness, not paying attention to where he put his feet. The roots of the tree behind him poked out of the thin soil; his heel caught and he pitched forward, trying not to fall. The noise of his stumble caught the pirates' attention and they turned around.

"Hey!" one of them protested in a hoarse voice. "What the bleedin' 'ell do you—"

Jensen's sword was at his throat before he finished speaking.

"The girl," he said, cold and hard as diamonds. "We're taking her."

"Like hell you are," the other growled, rising to his feet. "She's our'n. Worth a bloody fortune."

Jared stepped forward, musket raised and trained directly on the second man's heart.

"I'm afraid you'll have to live with the disappointment," Jensen drawled. He pressed his blade a little closer to his captive's throat, drawing a thin line of blood. "Unless you want to make a fuss, in which case you won't have to _live_ at all."

The man he was holding went absolutely still, although his face was drawn into a loathsome sneer. Jared approached the other man with caution, daring a quick glance at Jensen as he drew near. Jensen's face was calm and his hand steady; he kept his eyes on Jared, waiting for him to get close enough to cover both men at once. Once Jared was in position he nodded, stepping away from the pirates and heading for the shack.

Jared couldn't be sure which man moved first. He saw a furtive movement from the seated man and swung the musket in that direction, but it was too late—the man had thrown his knife, and all Jared could do was watch as it flashed silver through the air toward Jensen's unprotected back.

"Look out!" he cried.

Jensen dropped flat without even looking, less than three feet from the shack. The knife thudded harmlessly into the wall where he would have been standing.

Jared was already turning, bringing up the butt of the musket and smashing it directly into the would-be murderer's face with all his strength. He heard the satisfying sound of skin tearing and bone crunching, and for a moment he wanted to keep going, pounding the bastard's face until it was nothing but pulped flesh. Sanity intervened, and he let the unconscious man fall to the ground.

The other man scrambled after Jensen with a snarl twisting his ugly features. Jensen was caught flat on his back, wrestling fiercely, one elbow wedged under the man's chin as he fought to escape the fellow's stranglehold. Jared brought the musket to bear, but before he could fire they rolled, Jensen gaining the upper hand briefly before being slammed back into the sand.

He went very still, his arms dropping away, and Jared wondered why. Then he saw the glint of metal in the pirate's hand: another thrice-damned knife, this time held at Jensen's throat.

"How do you like it, eh?" the pirate jeered, digging the point into the notch between Jensen's collarbones and making him choke. "Not so brave and smooth now, are we?"

"Go to hell," Jensen gasped, his fury evident in his flashing eyes even as he struggled to breathe.

The pirate grinned at him, showing black and rotten teeth, and dug the knife in deeper.

"You fir—"

The noise of the ball discharging from the rifle was very loud. Jared wasn't expecting the recoil; the gun kicked back into his shoulder and he dropped it, his arm going numb. He ignored the pain, waving away the foul-smelling smoke to see if his aim was true.

The man was sprawled across Jensen's body like a blanket, unmoving. Jensen had loaded the musket with buck and ball; there was a small round hole in the centre of the pirate's back, with scattered smaller wounds around it. Jared slid to his knees beside them, half afraid the shot had gone straight through and hit Jensen too.

"Are you all right?" Jared asked, pushing the dead man—yes, very definitely dead if the smell of him was any indication—away from Jensen's prone body. "Jensen, for the love of God, say something. Did I hit you? Are you hurt?"

Jensen's eyes were closed and he wasn't moving. Jared ran his hands frantically over his body, searching for a wound, thinking dire thoughts of how to treat musket wounds and how he was going to get them all off the island. He stopped when Jensen groaned and coughed, turning his head to one side. His hand closed over Jared's on his chest and held it there for a moment while he took a deep, rasping breath.

"Is he dead?" Jensen asked finally, eyes still closed.

"Yes," Jared said. "Or near enough, anyway. The other one is still alive, but I knocked him out. I think I broke his jaw."

Jensen smiled at that, and opened his eyes at last. "Good."

Jared grinned back and let go of the breath he'd been holding. He helped Jensen to his feet and watched, chewing his lip, as Jensen took a careful breath and winced, holding his chest.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "That would have gone a lot smoother if I hadn't tripped right at the start."

"Don't worry about it." Jensen straightened with another grimace. "I'm surprised we managed it at all, frankly." He jerked his head at the shack. "Do you want to do the honours?"

Jared went over to the rickety structure and more or less pulled the door off. It was dark and damp-smelling inside; he paused just over the threshold to let his eyes adjust.

"Hello?" he said, peering into the room. "Are you all right? Don't be frightened. We're here to rescue you."

A small pale figure shot like a cannonball from the corner, straight into his arms. Jared looked down to see the girl he'd observed, her face pale, eyes wide and terrified.

"It's all right," he told her. "You're safe now."

"Oh, thank God," she said, and then she fainted.

* * *

Jared carried the girl back to the hut. She was in a dead faint most of the time, whether from fear or mistreatment he couldn't tell. She came around every so often, soft blue eyes blinking open dazedly. Then she would lose the battle with consciousness and go limp in his arms again. Thankfully, she didn't weigh very much, so carrying her was no chore.

Jensen stayed silent during their return journey. Jared wanted to ask if he were all right, but there was something in the way Jensen held himself that prevented it. He seemed brittle, as though a single wrong word or touch would shatter him into pieces. It was frustrating to watch. Jensen was clearly wrestling with himself in some way, and Jared wanted to help, but the girl needed him—needed both of them. Jared knew Jensen was unlikely to accept anything resembling help anyway. Better to wait until things had settled a bit, and the events of the day weren't so raw.

When they arrived back at the hut, Jared tucked the girl into his own bedding and watched her sleep. She _was_ young, perhaps younger than sixteen now that he saw her properly. She was obviously someone of means; her shift and wrapper were soiled, but very fine, and her hands were soft and white. She was not unlike his own sister; he shuddered at the thought of Megan being treated so, and was doubly glad their mad plan had worked.

"She's likely in shock," Jensen said, coming to stand by his shoulder. "She'll sleep for some time until her nerves settle down."

Jared glanced at him and saw Jensen's expression soften as he watched her, some colour creeping into his cheeks. He thought Jensen might possibly be remembering a female relative of his own.

"I hope she's not too frightened when she wakes up," Jared said. "She was so scared, I barely said two words to her before she fainted."

"She'll be all right," Jensen said. He laid a hand on Jared's shoulder, high up near his neck, and squeezed. "You did well, Jared. Her family will be grateful."

" _We_ did well," Jared corrected. "I couldn't have done this alone, Jensen."

He hesitated for a moment, then thought, _To hell with it_ , and covered Jensen's hand with his own, leaning into Jensen's side as he did so. They were close enough now that he could smell Jensen's sweat, feel the warmth of his body, and the thought struck him all at once: he'd killed a man. To protect the girl, yes, but that wasn't it, not really. He'd been aiming to wound, to incapacitate the fellow. But there'd been the point of a knife digging in hard under Jensen's chin, forcing his head back, and Jared hadn't thought twice.

He'd killed a man for Jensen, and he wasn't sorry.

This revelation caused Jared to press harder into Jensen's touch, to reassure himself that he was here, alive, and whole. He felt Jensen stiffen beside him for a split second, and then Jensen was leaning into him as well, fingers moulding themselves to Jared's shoulder, his ribcage expanding and contracting next to Jared's own.

"We should rest," Jensen said after a few quiet minutes. "The ship could return at any time, and we need to construct another raft—one big enough for all of us."

"All of us?" Jared repeated. He tilted his head to look at him. "You're coming too?"

"If you will remember," Jensen said, "the last time I sent you off to sea on your own, you came straight back again half-drowned. You'll excuse my lack of confidence in your seamanship." He let out a quiet 'oof' as Jared jabbed a gentle elbow into his side, and continued, "Besides, I have no wish to be here alone should that murderous bastard's captain return. He'll have lost a pretty penny with this girl, and my guess is he won't be very happy."

"A slight understatement," Jared agreed. "Well, then. Time to rest, as you say. Good night."

He looked at the girl again, curled up in the middle of his bedding, and mentally resigned himself to sleeping outside. He let his hand fall away from Jensen's and started toward the doorway of the hut.

"Where are you going?"

Jared turned around and saw Jensen watching him. The dim light threw his face into shadow, but the impatience in his stance was clear enough.

"Going to sleep," Jared said, confused.

"Don't be an idiot." Jensen shifted to one side, so that his bed was visible. "You're not sleeping outside after you—"

He seemed unable to finish. After a moment he growled something unintelligible and stalked forward, grabbing Jared's arm and forcibly moving him over to the unoccupied bedding.

"After I what?"

Jared came to a halt, staring at Jensen's downturned face. He watched a dull red flush cover Jensen's cheeks and saw his throat working as he swallowed. Jensen said something in a low voice, so quietly Jared couldn't hear it.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"You saved my life, all right?" Jensen whispered furiously, glaring at him. "And I am _grateful_."

"Oh." Jared paused for a moment, fighting the urge to grin like a loon. "Um. You're welcome, obviously."

"Obviously." Jensen heaved a sigh. "Just as obviously, I'm not going to deny you a bed to sleep in. So would you please stop being dense so we can both get some rest?"

"But I could—" Jared began.

"Oh, for God's sake. _Lie down_ ," Jensen commanded. "Go to sleep. And so help me, if you say 'thank you' I will clock you squarely in the face. Fair warning."

Jared couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face then. He guessed it was likely besotted, but hopefully the darkness would conceal the full extent. He kept his mouth firmly shut and did as he was told, stretching out in Jensen's bedclothes and inhaling his now-familiar scent.

He had only a moment to revel in it; almost immediately Jensen landed beside him with a soft thud, and Jared's instinctive relaxation fled. Jensen was so close, his scent infinitely stronger now, his warmth, the sound of his breathing … it was overwhelming. Jared turned onto his side, away from temptation, and stared at the wall only a foot away, trying to settle down enough to sleep.

He'd saved Jensen's life. It was an acknowledged fact between them. There was something powerful and primal about that; Jared felt different now, more secure of his footing on the fast-shifting ground of their unacknowledged relationship. He thought perhaps Jensen felt it too, a change in the balance between them, and wondered what else between them might change.

Jensen lay still behind him, stretched out on his back. Jared pictured him lying just that way in the middle of the beach, blinding sun showing every line and curve, heating his skin and slicking him with sweat, ready for Jared's touch. It was a heady image, and he fought to control his reaction to it with limited success. His pulse quickened and his breaths became uneven as his blood began to rise.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid, to think of such things now_ … and then Jared went absolutely still, because Jensen's hand was resting lightly on his back, down low at the base of his spine.

They lay there like that for a minute, not moving, Jared barely even breathing. Jensen was touching his bare skin beneath his shirt, a single point of heat and contact, and it felt astonishing. He was afraid to move in case Jensen startled; at the same time he wanted to roll over and tuck himself into Jensen's arms, feel those hands pulling him closer. He had the vaguest memory of something like that occurring in the depths of his fever, but he couldn't be sure if it had been mere hallucination. It would be nice (well, better than nice, really; _spectacular_ was more accurate) to experience the real thing.

Finally, unable to stand the impasse any longer, Jared took a deep breath and pressed, ever so lightly, back into Jensen's touch. He felt Jensen's hand give for a split second, then the pressure increased. The touch spread to his hip, edging beneath the waistband of his trousers, fingering the cut of muscle and bone. Jared bit his lip and tried not to gasp at the ticklish feel as Jensen trailed his hand along the slight dip of his side. Upward, then, sliding along his spine under tattered cloth all the way to his neck, resting there for a few moments and sifting through his hair; back down, a lingering drag, ending back at his hipbone and oh dear Lord, curling those fingers into a hard grip and _pulling_.

Jared let himself be moved. He shifted onto his back; Jensen's hand skimmed across his belly and found his other hip, pulling again. Jared did as he was bid, rolling over again as he'd been thinking of moments before, ending on his side facing Jensen, very close. Jensen moved his arm up, over and back, his hand fitting itself to Jared's hip again, tugging him even closer until he was held tight in the circle of Jensen's arm. After a moment Jensen's other arm came across and pulled Jared's head down onto his chest, resting lightly at the nape of his neck. Jared let his whole body relax into it, turning his face into Jensen's body and breathing deep, draping his own arm over Jensen's stomach.

They didn't speak; Jensen didn't even look at him. They simply went to sleep.  
It was the best night's sleep Jared could remember.

* * *

The girl slept through most of the following morning. Jared found this something of a relief; he was concerned for her well-being, of course, but he also wanted some time to savour the change in Jensen's behaviour. For it was indeed a change; Jensen went overnight from being somewhat standoffish and abrupt to … well. He would not have described Jensen as _clingy_ , but there was something of that nature in the way Jensen kept him in sight at all times.

There were touches, too; nothing untoward in the light of day, given their circumstances, but Jensen was suddenly much more present in Jared's immediate space, laying a hand on his back or arm to gain his attention rather than speaking aloud. It was odd, but very welcome, and Jared found himself smiling every time.

The fact that Jensen smiled back was the most welcome part of it all.

They were midway through the construction of a second, larger raft when their erstwhile damsel in distress awoke. There was a high, frightened cry from the hut, and then the girl stumbled out onto the porch, staring around wildly with panic writ clear on her face.

"It's all right," Jared called. "You're safe now."

Her eyes shot over to where they stood, surrounded by piles of hastily cut timber and armfuls of grass. Jensen didn't move from where he was seated on the ground, but Jared held up both hands in a placating gesture and moved slowly to stand on the beach in front of the hut.

"You're safe," he said again. "No-one is going to hurt you."

The girl gazed down at him for a few moments, trembling, and Jared tried his most reassuring smile. He shot a look at Jensen, who was steadfastly ignoring the whole situation, and sighed. No help from that quarter, then.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked. "Mine is Jared. That's Jensen over there. Don't mind him, he's just a grump in the mornings."

Her lips quirked as if trying to smile, and she took a deep, shaky breath. "Victoria," she said finally, clinging to the railing. "Victoria Whitmore."

"It's good to meet you, Miss Whitmore," Jared said solemnly. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she said. Her voice was very soft. "And—and sore. Frightened." Her mouth crumpled briefly. "Are they—"

"They're gone," Jared assured her, crossing his fingers behind his back. "We're going to get you back to your family. Can you tell me what happened?"

She looked around and spotted the platform at the side of the porch, but didn't seem to know how to use the rope. Jared came over and pulled himself up half way, offering her his hand. She hesitated, a flush staining her fair cheeks, then placed fluttering hands on his shoulders. Jared swung her down without effort and let her go, taking a few steps back. He thought he heard a snort from Jensen's direction, but when he looked over Jensen was hard at work twining grass plaits and didn't look up.

"We—I was in Port-au-Prince, with my chaperone," she said. "We were shopping—I wanted to buy a few gifts for my friends in Houston, just trinkets, really." She played with her shift as she spoke, pleating the material between nervous fingers. "I lost Mrs Stanhope in the crowd, and … and when I turned around …"

She stopped there, breathing fast and choppy. Jared made soothing noises until she calmed down.

"Someone took you?" he asked, and she nodded. "All right. Can you tell me anything else?"

"They were _horrible_ ," she burst out. "They laughed and—and looked at me, and some of them pinched me! They were saying things I didn't understand, but I know they must have been vile, and," her voice broke, "one of them tried to break into the room where they were keeping me. And then on the beach, they were fighting over me, and the one in charge put his sword at my throat and I thought—I thought—"

She broke down completely then, collapsing into a pile of coltish limbs on the beach, sobbing quietly. Jared looked down at her and felt utterly helpless. She was so young and fragile; he wanted to gather her up and comfort her, but surely she wouldn't want a man anywhere near her right now. He sat down cross-legged a short distance away, careful not to move in her direction.

"Shh," he said. "It's all over now. You're safe. You're safe."

She flung herself at him, crawling into his lap and winding her arms around his neck tight enough to choke. Jared nearly fell backward in surprise, then just sat there uncertainly while the girl continued to cry her heart out. He shot a helpless look at Jensen, who was watching them with narrowed eyes. Jensen simply shrugged in response and raised an eyebrow, clearly saying, _Your problem, not mine,_ then returned to his work.

Jared put a hand lightly on the girl's back and waited while she cried herself out. He was somewhat less than comfortable, but he didn't want to disturb her when she was so obviously distraught. Best to let her get it all out and then calm down properly, perhaps. So he sat and made more soothing noises and patted her awkwardly until the storm of tears passed.

"Better now?" he asked, when she appeared to have stopped. She nodded without moving her face from where it was currently tucked into his neck. Jared winced and shifted, gently pulling her arms from around him and folding them into her lap.

"I'm—my apologies," she said formally, looking down. "I didn't mean to go on like that."

"I think you're entitled," Jared replied, smiling. "You've been very brave."

She flushed again and gave him a smile, then finally shifted from his lap to sit on the sand, arms wrapped around her updrawn knees.

"What happens now?"

"We're building a raft," Jared said. "Jensen and I will take you back to Port-au-Prince and see you reunited with your family."

She looked doubtfully between him and Jensen. Jared fought the urge to bristle, reminding himself that she was little more than a child, and upset. Of course she had little confidence in them. That was all right; Jared had all the confidence in the world—in Jensen, at least.

"It will be fine. You'll see," he assured her. "It will take us a while to finish, though. Would you like to rest more? Are you hungry?"

He saw her eyes light up at the mention of food—of course, she must be starving. The pirates would hardly have counted her upkeep as a priority. Jared got to his feet and offered her a hand, bowing gallantly over it in a moment of whimsy. She laughed, a startling sound, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Her glance on him was warm, however, and she gave a ridiculous curtsey when she was on her feet. Jared smiled and gestured her to move before him toward the hut, shaking his head at her resilience.

His eyes fell on Jensen, and he pulled up short at the black scowl adorning the other man's face. For a moment Jared was at a loss as to what had caused it; as he watched, however, Jensen's gaze followed Miss Whitmore, and his expression darkened further. He looked at Jared then, and when he saw Jared already looking at him, he said not a word but offered only another raised brow and a twist of his lips, somehow bitter and self-deprecating at once. Then he appeared to dismiss Jared entirely, directing his gaze down at his hands and keeping it there.

Jared waited a few moments, but Jensen didn't look up again. He could barely believe what he thought he was seeing, but there weren't many other explanations. Still—Jensen was _jealous_? It made no sense. She was barely more than a child. Jared sighed, shook his head, and flung himself onto the porch, reaching down to lift Miss Whitmore up beside him.

It quickly became evident that Miss Whitmore was resilient. She ate the fruit and dried meat Jared provided her with healthy appetite, and refused his offer to leave her alone afterward.

"Tell me about yourself," she said instead. "You saved my life, and I don't even know your full name."

Jared eyed the bright, almost worshipful smile on her face and decided to be very, very careful. He told her the bare minimum for politeness' sake, mentioning only that he was from Galveston and that he had washed ashore after his ship sank in a storm.

"And him?" Miss Whitmore asked, indicating Jensen with a slim pointing hand. ("Call me Victoria, please," she'd begged, but Jared wasn't touching that intimacy with a ten foot pole.) "What is he doing here, of all places?"

"Jensen is …" Jared hesitated. It was difficult to describe Jensen to himself, let alone to someone who would likely not understand. "He's a scientist, a student of natural history. He's here to study the wildlife. Don't worry if he doesn't warm up to you; he's not—not around people very much."

"A scientist?" Miss Whitmore sniffed, not quite scoffing. "Sounds dull. What do _you_ do?"

Jared dodged the question as well as he was able and turned the conversation back to her parents, breathing a silent sigh of thanks when Miss Whitmore became distracted by thoughts of her return. He was beginning to see difficulties looming over the coming days: with an adoring teenage girl on the one hand, and a darkly jealous Jensen on the other, sharing a raft was going to be interesting, to say the least. Jensen had estimated the journey to Hispaniola would take two or three days, depending on wind conditions. Jared only hoped they all survived the trip without someone being thrown overboard.

* * *

Eventually he left Miss Whitmore to rest, pleading the excuse of needing to help Jensen. It wasn't a fabrication; the work would progress faster with two of them, even if Jensen was doing most of the important things. Jared went back down to the area they had designated for construction of the new raft, approaching with caution.

"Hey," he said, stopping a few feet away. "Want some help?"

"Finally taken her claws out of you, has she?" Jensen's voice was harsh. He didn't look up, but his movements were just short of violence as he lashed two lengths of wood together. "I take it she's recovering well."

"She's … yes," Jared fumbled. He eased down to sit beside Jensen, close but not touching. "She's sleeping now." He waited a beat, then said, "She's only fifteen. Her parents are in Port-au-Prince. She lost her chaperone while shopping and the pirates took her right off the street."

Jensen grunted, but didn't say anything in reply. He shoved a pile of grass over to Jared to begin plaiting them into rope, and they worked in silence for a while. Jared racked his brains to think of something to say that would remove the dark look from Jensen's face, but everything sounded too awkward. One night spent sleeping in close quarters didn't necessarily mean anything, after all, and Jensen's stiff posture now indicated that further overtures of that nature might not be welcome. Jared decided it was best to remain quiet and hope that Jensen would snap out of this black mood on his own.

He kept stealing glances every so often, watching Jensen's capable hands and remembering what they had felt like last night, holding him close. He was no virgin, but it was the most intimate thing he'd ever experienced. He wondered what Jensen might be like in even more intimate circumstances, without his customary prickliness keeping everyone at bay. There'd been a hint of it last night, and the commanding attitude he'd displayed had been … well. Exciting, and then some. Jared threw another glance in Jensen's direction, biting his bottom lip as he considered it.

Jensen was looking back this time, his eyes fiery green and snapping with emotion. Jared drew in a sharp breath but didn't move. Whatever was going to happen, he wanted Jensen to know he wasn't afraid.

"Something on your mind?" he asked mildly.

"No," Jensen bit out, but he didn't look away.

"Liar." Jared smiled. "Come on, spit it out. I don't need social niceties either, you know."

Jensen's mouth drew tighter at that, and his hands clenched in the rope he held. Jared wondered if he were about to throw a punch, and was somewhat bemused to find he didn't really mind. Some emotion, even anger, was better than none at all.

"You were _consoling_ her for quite some time," Jensen said in icy tones. His eyes drilled into Jared's. "Perhaps you'd prefer to return to the hut. I can manage here."

"You really are terrible with people, aren't you?" Jared leaned in a little closer. "Don't try to second-guess me, Jensen. I'm exactly where I want to be, thank you."

"But she—mmph!"

Jensen's lips were dry and a little chapped, parted in surprise. Jared licked over them and then between, conducting a quick but thorough exploration. Jensen's beard scraped pleasantly, a gentle burn on his cheeks that made Jared think of what it might feel like in other places. He put a hand on Jensen's shoulder and sucked on his tongue, nibbled on his bottom lip, then pulled back with a final chaste kiss.

Jensen was staring at him, eyes wide, apparently not breathing. Jared ran his tongue over his own lips and smiled, settling back into a sitting position.

"Are you satisfied now?" he asked.

Green eyes went dark, and Jensen opened his mouth, letting out a long, hissing breath.

"Not even remotely."

Jared shivered at the deep timbre of Jensen's voice, the silkiness of his tone. He stared back, hands falling nerveless into his lap, his breath coming faster at the look of open want on Jensen's face. Somewhere inside him a small voice was crowing in victory, but he paid it no mind, because this— _this_ was what he'd been waiting for.

He leaned in again, wanting another taste, but Jensen's hand on his chest held him back. He shot a glance at the hut and looked back at Jared, shaking his head.

"She's sleeping," Jared argued. He covered Jensen's hand with his own, pressing it into his body.

"Not for long, I'll wager. And we have work to do," Jensen countered. He turned his hand in Jared's grip and squeezed, then let go. "We need to finish this raft and be gone before the pirates return, remember?"

Jared scowled, but nodded his acceptance of the circumstances. He didn't have to like it, though. Darting forward, he dropped another quick kiss on Jensen's mouth before sitting back and picking up his half-finished rope.

"Fine," he said. "But you and I will continue this discussion later, make no mistake."

Jensen rubbed his thumb over his mouth and didn't say anything, but Jared caught the edge of a smile under his hand. He went back to work with a smile of his own, looking forward to the coming night.

* * *

Miss Whitmore appeared on the porch a short while later, calling prettily for Jared to help her down to the beach. She came over to watch them working, all but ignoring Jensen and making Jared wince at her less-than-subtle attempts to engage him in conversation. It wasn't quite flirting; appearances to the contrary, she wasn't fully recovered from her treatment at the hands of her captors. She stayed close and looked around her constantly, starting at every noise. Jared could see that she was mostly desperate for some sense of normalcy, and participating in light banter with a young gentleman was about the only normal thing she could do right now. He humoured her as best he could while remaining within the bounds of proper drawing-room behaviour, feeling Jensen's sardonic gaze flicking between them the whole time.

Rather than irritating him as it was no doubt meant, Jared found Jensen's attention to the conversation riled him up in an entirely different way. He began actively wishing for sunset and the further revelations it would bring.

They worked through the afternoon, stopping for a quick meal and then continuing on until the last rays of light were fading from the sky. The raft wasn't completely finished—there was the mast to attach and the sail to rig—but that could wait for the morning. They dragged it down to the water's edge and tested it, all three climbing aboard (Miss Whitmore giggling as Jared lifted her aboard as if she weighed no more than a feather, while Jensen looked on with narrowed eyes). The construction held, and Jared released a sigh. He was shamefully anticipating their arrival in Port-au-Prince, when Miss Whitmore would no longer be his responsibility. He was also secretly curious to see what Jensen would be like among other people, but he knew better than to show even a hint of that.

They were seated at what passed for dinner—more fruit and freshly caught lobster—and Miss Whitmore was in the middle of a convoluted story involving several of her friends and an escaped lapdog. Jared was trying to seem interested, but his body was sore from the day's work and the firelight was throwing soft red-gold tints onto Jensen's skin and hair, and he was finding it hard to concentrate.

"Time for sleep," Jensen announced rather abruptly, while she was paused for breath. "We have an arduous journey ahead of us, and it won't be easy. It's best to get as much rest as possible before we set out."

"Oh," Miss Whitmore said. Her face fell so far it was almost comical. Jared held his expression blank when she turned to him in appeal. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind staying up a short while longer, Jared?"

"Actually, I am rather tired," he admitted. He stretched, arching his back and reaching overhead, catching Jensen's eyes on him across the fire. "It's been a long couple of days, and Jensen's right: tomorrow won't be easy. Trust me, I know."

He stood up and helped her to her feet, shooting Jensen a heated glance. Jensen stayed by the fire, packing a bag of provisions to take with them while Jared escorted Miss Whitmore to the hut.

"Are you coming now?" she asked once he'd assisted her to the porch. She looked at him from under her lashes, more come-hither than coy, and Jared took a step back.

"We'll be in shortly," he said. "I must help Jensen put the fire out and get things ready for the morning."

She looked disappointed, but nodded and went inside. Jared stared after her for a second, then shook his head and returned to the beach.

Jensen glanced at him as they worked together, banking the fire and transporting the provisions to the raft, beached above the tide line. He didn't speak, and Jared didn't pursue conversation, content to let the tension between them speak for itself. His blood felt light and hot in his veins, and every time he glanced Jensen's way he felt his skin get a little tighter, as though he were too large to be contained in it. He caught Jensen's eyes on him just as often, and the knowledge that they were both thinking of the same thing made Jared's heart skip a beat.

Finally there was nothing more to do, no more busywork to prolong the suspense. Jensen jerked his head in the direction of the hut and Jared followed, puzzled as to his meaning. Jensen led him directly under the hut, into the near-total darkness beneath the floor …where Miss Whitmore wouldn't see them, should she chance to look outside.

"Clever," Jared breathed.

He had no chance to say anything further before Jensen yanked him inside and pushed him roughly against one of the supporting beams, coming in hard against his body immediately. Jared's head fell back and he bit down on a moan, his hands curving around Jensen's shoulders, one leg wrapping around the back of his knees. Jensen growled low in Jared's ear and licked a stripe down his neck, sucking a red mark into his chest, coming back up to capture his mouth and plunge his tongue deep in a heated kiss.

Jared opened wide, pulling him in closer and taking everything he could. He sucked Jensen's tongue into his mouth, twined his own around it, rubbed against it endlessly until Jensen wrenched his mouth away. They leaned together, fighting for breath, Jensen's hands roaming up and down Jared's chest, lingering at his waist.

"You're impossible," Jensen said into his hair, pushing closer. "Always there even when you're gone, and I can't ignore you, and you look at me like—"

He paused, shaking his head. Jared met his gaze.

"Like what?"

Jensen closed his eyes briefly, drawing a deep breath. When he reopened them, Jared was assaulted by a wave of sheer want at what he saw there.

"You look at me as a man should look at his wife."

"I'll tell you a secret," Jared murmured. He took one of Jensen's hands and kissed the fingertips, one by one. "I don't _want_ a wife. I want this."

He slid one hand down Jensen's chest and around to his back, pressing their hips together. They both inhaled at the feel of it; Jared circled his hips slowly, and Jensen growled again and bit the tender skin behind his ear, setting his skin on fire with the rasp of his beard.

"May I?" Jared whispered, fingers flirting with the edge of Jensen's waistband. He kept his tone light, as if asking for the last biscuit or another cup of coffee.

"Always so fucking polite," Jensen groaned. "Your good manners are going to kill me."

He took Jared's hand and moulded it to the front of his threadbare trousers, outlining the hot, heavy length between his thighs. Jared closed his hand around it and stroked, fondled, rubbed, taking Jensen's quiet noises into his mouth, kissing them straight from his lips. Jensen batted his hand away briefly and drew the material down, pushing immediately back into Jared's hand. He was twisting in Jared's hold, sliding his shirt up over his head and throwing it aside, his hands running up under Jared's clothes and stoking his desire to fever pitch.

"Wait," Jared mouthed against his lips, "wait, just wait—"

He pulled back and tore off his own clothing, kicking away the once-fine linen pants and shirt, spreading them on the sand and dragging Jensen down with him. He fell back, Jensen laid out full length along his body, and pushed up smoothly with his hips in an obscene undulation that had Jensen biting off a curse into his hair. Then they began to rock together, Jensen crashing down like a wave, Jared rising to meet him, sweat filming their skin to ease the glide. Jared buried his mouth in the curve of Jensen's neck to hold his noises in and wrapped his legs high around Jensen's hips. For his part, Jensen gripped a handful of Jared's hair and hooked a hand under his shoulder, uttering a sub-vocal stream of blasphemies and profanities into his ear.

Jensen's thighs heaved, pushing Jared wider; Jared bent and flowed beneath him, one arm wrapped tight around Jensen's neck to keep him close, the other fastened to the curve of his backside. They thrust and strove against each other as if fighting, no room for even a breath of air between them. Jared couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't see anything that wasn't Jensen lighting him on fire from the inside out. He smothered a whine as Jensen's hand came down, taking both of them in hand and setting up a new rhythm, one that had him gasping from the shock of it.

It was too much, too good; Jared's legs slid down, he threw his head back and strained for a long, long moment, legs stretched as wide as he could get them, pressing up into Jensen's hand so hard his entire lower back was off the ground.

"Jesus," he heard Jensen say hoarsely, "sweet merciful Christ, Jared—" and then there was nothing but the rush of blood and the scrape of pleasure along every nerve, pushing him over the edge into ecstasy. He went boneless with it, Jensen slipping out of his hold, but kissing back as well as he could when Jensen's frantic mouth descended. A few moments later Jensen's hips stuttered against him and his shoulders went rigid, and Jared forced his eyes open to see.

"Beautiful," he murmured into Jensen's mouth, "just, just _gorgeous_ ," running his hands over Jensen's back, stroking him through the last of it. Jensen made a helpless sound and kissed him again until they were breathless, hands deep in Jared's sweat-damp hair.

They stayed like that for some minutes, Jensen sprawled lazily atop him, dropping kisses on whatever part was most convenient. Jared continued to caress Jensen's body, savouring the heavy feel of him, wishing they had the opportunity to do it all again. At last, however, he sighed and lifted his head to kiss Jensen one last time.

"We should move; it's late."

"Don't want to." Jensen bit down gently on his earlobe and tugged. "I'm comfortable here."

Jared couldn't help his low chuckle, or the flutter of warmth in his stomach. Jensen sounded completely satisfied, and it was solely due to him; it was hard not to feel smug about that. He wrapped all four limbs around him and squeezed, making Jensen gasp.

"Hedonist," he accused. "Come on. We need to clean up and get to sleep. Sometime before dawn," he added when Jensen opened an eye to glare hazily at him.

"I hate you," Jensen informed him.

"Yes, I can tell."

Jared grinned and pushed Jensen off him. He stood up on shaky legs, grimacing at the mess that had landed mostly on his stomach. He saw Jensen's eyes darken at the sight and paused, drawing a finger through the sticky white and raising it to taste. Jensen's gaze focused sharply on Jared's mouth, mouthing yet another obscenity when Jared closed his lips around his finger and sucked hard. It was bitter and salty, but somehow it made the whole encounter _real_.

"Bastard," Jensen breathed, knee-walking over to Jared and seizing his hips. "Hold still, damn you ..."

His tongue swept over Jared's belly, tickling slightly, cleaning up the remainder, lingering and tracing the dips and muscles of Jared's body. His lips were soft, his tongue warm and wet, sharp contrast to the drag of his hair-roughened cheek when he turned his head to nuzzle Jared's hip. Jared's hands were on Jensen's shoulders; the soft-harsh rasp made his hands clench, and he felt Jensen's smile in response. It was harder than it should have been to step away, regardless of their urgent circumstances.

"Don't," he begged as Jensen leaned forward again. "Or we'll never move from this spot, I promise you that."

"That isn't a very compelling argument," Jensen pointed out, but he got to his feet with a sigh. "All right. Let's wash up—quickly—and get some sleep."

After sluicing themselves down with water from the spring they retired to the hut. Miss Whitmore was fast asleep, letting out tiny ladylike snores. Jensen snorted softly and shook his head, pulling Jared down with him into the blankets and arranging him like a life-size doll. Jared was too bemused to protest, and soon found himself on his side with Jensen behind him, arms wound around his chest tipping him back into Jensen's body. It should have been uncomfortable, but Jared sank into it with a contented sigh. Jensen's shoulder pillowed his head, and one of his thighs pressed up between Jared's own.

He felt Jensen's lips press softly against his temple, urging him down into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

They set off early the next morning, into a calm sea and cloudless horizon. Jared woke to find Jensen gone and Miss Whitmore still sleeping, for which he was grateful; the fewer awkward conversations, the better. He joined Jensen on the beach, helping him to rig the mast and sail and secure their provisions on board.

"Time we were on our way," Jensen said when all was ready. He darted a glance at the hut, then looked at Jared. "Why don't you go rouse your ladylove, hm?"

There was no bitterness in his tone; his eyes fairly glinted with good humour, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Jared fought the urge to tackle him to the ground and kiss him senseless, knowing they didn't have the time. It did nothing to quell the need, however.

"You think you're amusing," he said, "but you aren't. It's a sad thing to witness, really."

Jensen just smiled, wide and beautiful, and Jared nearly fell over from the shock of want that hit him. He threw himself onto the porch to avoid temptation, and shook Miss Whitmore awake a little more roughly than he had intended.

"Ugh," she moaned. "It's too _early_. Go away." She pulled the blankets over her head, muttering to herself.

Jared grabbed them and pulled them briskly down, ignoring her startled shriek.

"Good morning," he said brightly. "We have a long way to go, and the day is already getting on. Jensen and I will be launching the raft in about ten minutes, so I suggest you get up and make sure you're ready to leave."

He walked out and left her sputtering behind him, fighting with everything in him not to laugh.

Nine minutes later she swung herself clumsily down to the beach and stalked toward them, colour high in her cheeks. She ignored Jensen and threw an angry look at Jared, accepting his help aboard the raft in stony silence. Jared exchanged a look with Jensen, but he couldn't bring himself to regret his actions. They were going to be in close quarters for the next few days, and he would rather have the girl be miffed with him than the alternative. It would be difficult enough to keep his hands off Jensen without having to field her advances as well. He understood what was happening well enough: focusing her attentions on Jared was both a way of recovering from the trauma she'd suffered, and a safe means of regaining her sense of self. That didn't mean he had to enjoy it, however.

"We have good weather and a good wind," Jensen said, shading his eyes from the morning sun. "That doesn't mean it won't storm, but we should be able to clear the reefs without too much trouble. After that we can head south and tack until we reach Puerto Rico, and get a ship to Hispaniola from there."

It was a greater distance than Jared's failed attempt to reach Tortola, but they had agreed it was best to get out of the islands altogether. The trip would take between two and five days, depending on weather and other mishaps, by Jensen's cautious estimate. They would deliver Miss Whitmore to the harbourmaster at San Juan, and then …

Jared came up short after that, because once they reached civilisation there was no reason for him not to leave.

He hadn't been thinking about his own situation at all. It was important that they return Miss Whitmore to her people, yes, but until this moment it had escaped him that he could do the same once they reached San Juan. He darted a look at Jensen, who was making a final inspection of the raft before they pushed off. It seemed like so much time had passed since Jared washed ashore, but when he thought back it had only been a few weeks, three at most. Not nearly long enough to form such a strong attachment, he would have said. And yet, there it was: he didn't want to go.

Jared kept silent about his thoughts as they set sail, letting Miss Whitmore chatter her way through the morning. They were making good time already, Jensen said, and the knowledge that he would soon be forced to make a decision made Jared's mood sink even further. He had no idea which course he should take, or even if Jensen would want him to stay.

A man who valued solitude above all else would hardly welcome the idea of a man like Jared in his life.

* * *

They made Puerto Rico in three days. It was the most agonising journey Jared had ever experienced.

Miss Whitmore drove him to distraction with her constant conversation and demands for attention. Jensen quickly devolved into pretending she wasn't even there, which left Jared to deal with her alone. On a raft that was barely large enough for the three of them there was no escape, and Miss Whitmore used that to her advantage. Jared was tired, foul-tempered and possessed of a pounding head when they finally sighted land on the third day.

The harbourmaster was suitably aghast at their predicament, showering them in a flood of solicitous Spanish. Jared watched as Miss Whitmore crumpled delicately in the arms of the harbourmaster's wife, gracefully accepting the attention as her due, and mentally washed his hands of her. Surely there would be notices posted by her parents that would see her reunited with them soon.

He turned to follow Jensen out the door, glad to be free of this particular obligation and thinking of a quiet hotel room with a large bed, and Jensen to share it with. Miss Whitmore's voice stopped him with one foot on the threshold of the harbourmaster's office, filling him with dread.

"Mr Padalecki," she almost sang, "you will come and see me tomorrow, won't you? You've been so kind. My parents will want to thank you personally for all you've done."

He turned and mustered up a polite smile. "As you wish," he agreed. "I'll send my address once I'm settled in a hotel. Good day to you."

She giggled and fluttered her hand in farewell, and Jared escaped while he still could.

Jensen hadn't waited for him; he was several yards along the street, walking fast and purposefully as if he really wanted to run. Jared lengthened his stride to catch up, grateful for his long legs.

"Thank God that's over," he said when he reached Jensen's side. "I thought we'd never be rid of her. Next time I ask you to help me rescue someone, I want you to hit me over the head with something heavy, all right?"

Jensen quirked his mouth but didn't reply, hunching his shoulders as they walked. He already seemed different here, smaller somehow, as if the world were suffocating him. Jared put a hand on his shoulder and Jensen startled, turning to look at him.

"What, um." Jared ran a hand through his hair. "What are your plans? Right now, I mean. Would you like to … are you hungry? We could eat, or …" He trailed off, unsure and awkward like he hadn't been in days.

"I would like to find a room in a hotel without an infestation of vermin," Jensen said, each word precisely bitten off. "I would like to bathe, and eat approximately half a roast animal of some description. Then I would like to fall into a clean bed and sleep the clock around without any sort of girlish dulcet tones reverberating in my skull." His look back the way they'd come indicated clearly what he meant. "Those are my plans, Jared. Now are you coming or are we going to stand in the street all day hemming and hawing like a pair of old ladies?"

He started walking again, leaving Jared staring after him until his brain made sense of the words. Then he was racing to catch up, trying his best to keep his smile off his face in case Jensen took it for smugness and changed his mind. He still had a decision to make, but he didn't have to make it today. And in the meantime—food, a bath and a room alone with Jensen. It was everything he could ever want.

* * *

"Oh God, it's good to be clean," Jensen sighed.

Jared looked up from the newspaper to see him re-entering the room, clad in a borrowed robe and scrubbing at his wet hair with a towel. They were both dependent on the hotel's kindness until they could source new clothing, although Jensen had insisted on keeping his worn trousers and shirt rather than letting them be thrown away. Jared had no such qualms; he was ecstatic at the thought of clothes that weren't salt-crusted and wind-rough, and had promptly wired his bank for funds.

He was paying for Jensen's requirements as well, at his insistence; Jensen had raised a mocking eyebrow but hadn't argued. A short time later they were both clad in linen trousers and soft cotton shirts, hastily sourced by the concierge after Jared had added the persuasion of an obscenely large gratuity when he paid the bill.

Now they were at liberty to enjoy the evening, having eaten very well in the hotel's dining room. Jared was clean and full and comfortable, and seeing Jensen in front of him in a similar state—and fresh from bathing—gave him several interesting ideas about how the evening should proceed.

"Was there a problem with the bathing facilities?" Jared asked.

"They were fine." Jensen looked at him oddly. "Why?"

"You … haven't shaved your beard." Jared felt his face go hot and guessed he must be turning bright red. "I mean, not that you have to. I just—"

Jensen dropped his towel on the floor and came over to Jared's bed, leaning down to trap him against the headboard. His eyes glinted wickedly; his teeth gleamed as he grinned, a hint of pink, wet tongue visible behind.

"I was under the impression you were rather fond of my beard."

Jared swallowed. "Um." His face grew hotter. "Possibly."

Jensen leaned in further, his scent mixed with soap instead of salt, and nosed his way along Jared's jawline. Jared let his head fall back and made a noise deep in his throat when Jensen deliberately rasped his beard against the soft skin under his ear.

"Possibly?" Jensen prompted, raising his head a little. He licked the red marks he'd just created, soft sucking kisses that made Jared's blood pound. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely," Jared breathed. He sank into the support of the bed, sliding down with his chin tipped up in clear invitation. "Absolutely positively certainly sure."

"Oh, well then," Jensen said, kneeing onto the bed and straddling his hips, "as long as you're _sure_ …"

"Oh my God, shut up and kiss me," Jared groaned, and bucked up in satisfaction when Jensen fell down on him and complied.

They kissed for a long time, learning each other's mouths properly now that they had the time. Jared embarrassed himself by making some very un-masculine sounds whenever Jensen rubbed his face into his skin, which was often. It wasn't long before Jared's neck and chest were glowing red and sensitive, the slightest touch making him shiver and causing his cock to twitch and jerk.

Jensen sat up and trailed both hands down from Jared's jaw to his breastbone in a light, teasing caress. His eyes were dark and wide with heat, his skin flushed with it. He put his hand on the knotted belt holding Jared's robe closed.

"In a purely scientific sense, I'm wondering," he said, working the knot open slowly at Jared's nod, "given your evident approval of my unshaven state in this context, exactly what will happen—" he paused to pull the sides of the robe apart, baring Jared's naked body and achingly hard erection, "—when I do this."

His head dropped between Jared's thighs faster than Jared could draw breath. When Jared did find the presence of mind to breathe, he let it out in a strangled yell at the feel of Jensen's cheek sliding along the length of his cock. His thighs spasmed; Jensen pulled back, planting an elbow inside each knee and shoving them wide, leaving Jared totally exposed.

Drawing a gasping breath, Jared looked down his body and saw something he knew he'd always remember: Jensen sprawled full-length between his legs, eyes closed, nuzzling the join of Jared's hip and leg as if he never wanted to move from there. The sight twisted something deep in Jared's insides; he thrust up without meaning to, wanting to get closer, and Jensen's eyes opened. He looked steeped in lust, almost drunk with it.

"Please," Jared said, "oh, God damn you, _please_ —"

Jensen smiled and bent down further, rubbing his face against Jared's inner thighs, nudging up close to where they met his body and laying a deep, sucking kiss against the soft skin behind his balls. Then he went back further still and Jared melted back into the bed with a cry, his knees coming up involuntarily, though whether in protest or welcome he didn't yet know. It was just so shocking; he'd heard of it, of course, but had never … and the feel of it, God! Jensen's mouth was warm and wet, his beard coarse and soft together, and it took only seconds for Jared to be moaning incoherently, raising his hips off the bed in an attempt to prolong the sensations.

Jensen chuckled, causing yet another shudder to run through him. He caught Jared's hips and dragged a pillow beneath them, then hooked Jared's knees over his shoulders. His eyes were bright now, brilliant rings of green around huge black pupils, his lips red from kissing.

"In the interests of scientific discovery," he said, panting for breath, "I think we should find out whether I can make you come like this. Yes?"

"Holy Jesus," Jared moaned.

"All right then," Jensen murmured against his skin. "Here we go."

Anything that came after this, Jared thought faintly, was going to be a very, very distant second. Jensen went from licking and kissing to deep, penetrating thrusts of his tongue, the tips of two fingers providing the barest stretch to open him up. Jared knew he was making a considerable amount of noise, but that seemed unimportant next to the jolts of pleasure wracking his body. Jensen's beard stimulated him further, making his skin tingle wherever it touched, over and over until Jared was nothing but a mass of ravaged nerve endings, completely at Jensen's mercy.

Then, just when he believed it couldn't get better, Jensen wrapped his hand around Jared's cock and began to stroke. Jared's body jolted again, caught between two hooks of pleasure; he reached for the headboard and held on, head thrown back and a stream of senseless babble pouring from his mouth. Jensen's tongue worked ever deeper, his hand speeding faster, harder, driving Jared relentlessly toward his climax. He tried to hold back, draw it out longer, but there was no stopping it: his body tensed, every muscle straining, streaks of white painting Jensen's hand and bursts of colour exploding behind Jared's eyes. He melted into the bed, trembling with aftershocks, Jensen's name tripping over God's on his lips.

Jensen crawled back up the bed to hover over him on all fours. His tongue licked out to taste his dripping hand. Jared opened his mouth for a taste and Jensen fed him, growling when Jared sucked greedily on his fingers.

"Damn it all, Jared," he breathed, eyes fixed on Jared's mouth. "Why do you have to be so …"

He trailed off, pulling his hand back. Jared pushed up onto his elbows, suddenly worried.

"What's the matter?"

Jensen shook his head, leaning in to kiss him.

"It's nothing. Don't worry; sometimes I think too much, that's all."

He cut off Jared's reply with another kiss, deep and searching, and Jared let himself be distracted. He urged Jensen up further with both hands on his backside, wanting to taste but not sure how to ask. Jensen seemed to understand regardless; he shrugged out of his robe and settled on his knees over Jared's face, one hand on the wall. The other he used to guide his cock into Jared's mouth, painting his open lips with salt-bitter slick before letting it slide between.

Jared had devoted a great deal of thought to this particular act, but had never had the opportunity to try it. He found he liked it; the weight of Jensen's cock in his mouth, the sharp-sour taste, the smooth hard texture and the way he could make Jensen's whole body shake with a simple twist of his tongue. He tried an experimental suck, long and slow; Jensen's back arched and he bit off a savage curse. Jared smiled as well as he was able and did it again, and again, falling into a rhythm that had Jensen curling over him and gripping the headboard for dear life.

It was somewhat awkward—he was a novice in practice, after all—but Jared's confidence grew with every drawn-out groan he coaxed from Jensen's mouth, every aborted thrust of hips that told him Jensen was forcing himself to stillness. He thought of lying there and letting Jensen plunge in and out of him at will, and found the idea so exciting his spent cock tried to rise again. Jared swirled his tongue around the head of Jensen's erection and swore they would try that someday soon.

Jensen's climax took them both by surprise; one moment he was all but bucking on Jared's chest, and the next he was wrenching himself away and spurting creamy white strings onto Jared's face and neck. It was odd, but not unpleasant—and the look on Jensen's face when he licked his lips and hummed was worth a million worse things.

"Mm," Jared said, just because he felt like it. "That was good."

"Good," Jensen echoed, staring at him. Jared skimmed a hand over his face, collecting the stickiness, and matter-of-factly began to lick it clean.

"Yes; good. Nice. Lovely. Pleasant. Enjoyable. Are you getting the idea, or shall I throw synonyms at you for the rest of the evening?"

Jensen's eyes narrowed, but his apparent annoyance was spoiled by the grin tugging at his mouth.

"You're a bastard."

"So are you." Jared smiled up at him. "It would appear we're well suited."

Jensen's face smoothed out subtly, going from sated to strained in a heartbeat. Jared frowned and began to sit up, only to have Jensen plant a hand on his chest and push him back down.

"Time for sleep," Jensen announced. "I was tired an hour ago; now I'm exhausted and that's your fault, so you get to lie here and be my pillow."

He promptly collapsed, arranging them both to his satisfaction until he was sprawled half across Jared's chest, one leg slung over his hips and his face tucked into Jared's neck. It should have been uncomfortable; instead Jared felt reassured by the closeness. He relaxed, sliding his arm under Jensen's body to pull him nearer, and drifted easily into sleep.

* * *

Naturally, the way Jared's luck was running of late, the following day almost negated the way the evening ended.

He and Jensen were rudely awoken by rapid and insistent knocking on their door, which didn't let up even when Jensen hurled something heavy at the wall and yelled for whoever it was to go away. Jared groaned and buried his head under a pillow, but when the knocking and Jensen's swearing continued, he admitted defeat and dragged himself upright.

"Stay there," he ordered Jensen, pushing his pillow over Jensen's face. "Whatever it is, I'll deal with it."

"Damn right you will." Jensen tossed the pillow aside and glared up at him, charmingly rumpled. "I refuse to deal with other people this early in the morning."

Jared refrained from pointing out that it had to be at least eight o'clock, which was well past Jensen's usual rising time. He slipped on his trousers and shirt on his way to the door.

"Yes?" he asked, opening it a few inches to block the view of Jensen in his bed.

"Good morning!" Miss Whitmore sang brightly. "Goodness, are you still in bed?" She giggled behind her hand and looked up coyly through her lashes. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. You must have been tired."

Jared looked over his shoulder at Jensen's mostly-unidentifiable form amidst the bedclothes, then back down at their unwelcome visitor. He wished violently for a second or two that he could push her away and slam the door closed, but his mother had unfortunately raised him to be a gentleman. He dredged up a polite smile and cast about for something appropriate to say.

"You look well," he said. "Was the harbourmaster able to contact your parents?"

"They're still in Port-au-Prince." Miss Whitmore smiled hopefully at him. "They're on their way, but it will take a day or so. I do hope that won't inconvenience you—they do so want to meet you. You don't mind waiting, do you? It would mean ever so much to them. And to me, of course."

She put her hand on his arm and flushed prettily, and Jared heard warning bells ringing in his ears. He knew exactly how this was meant to go: he would gallantly agree to meet her parents, whereupon they would fall all over themselves in gratitude for his returning their precious girl to safety, and before Jared knew it he would be engaged and lined up for a position in whatever the Whitmore family business might be.

"Jensen!" he called over his shoulder. "Make yourself decent. Miss Whitmore is in need of our services for a while longer."

He disengaged her hand from his arm and patted it, smiling as obliviously as he could manage at her scowl.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "Jensen and I will be most pleased to deliver you personally to your parents. Why don't you give us a few moments to make ourselves presentable, and we'll meet you downstairs?"

He could see the protest forming on her face, but he gave her a gentle push and stepped back into the room, closing the door before she could speak. Then he leaned back against the wood and sighed heavily, letting his head thump against it in frustration.

"Her parents won't be here until tomorrow," he said. "She wants me to wait for them and then steathily trap me into an engagement. You have to help me."

"Do I?" Jensen emerged from the bed looking delectably rumpled, his chest and shoulders covered in Jared's marks. "Why?"

"Because despite your dislike of humanity in general, you think I'm far too wonderful to be trapped in a loveless marriage." He wanted to add, _And because you want me for yourself, and I'd be just fine with that_ , but he knew better than to go that far. Even if it was blindingly obvious.

Jensen threw him a dark scowl and went to the washstand, splashing his face with water and combing careless fingers through his hair. Jared watched him openly, appreciating anew the strength and beauty evident in Jensen's naked body, feeling the throb and scrape of the marks Jensen had left on him in return. Jensen seemed entirely unconcerned by his gaze, which led Jared to thoughts of having him out in the open, surrounded by sun and sand, perhaps wet and dripping from a dip in the ocean, every well-defined muscle tasting of salt and musk on Jared's tongue.

He pushed away from the door and approached Jensen from behind, sliding a hand around his waist and tugging him back against his chest. Jensen lowered the towel from drying his face and angled a look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

"This is hardly the time," he pointed out. "Your ladylove is waiting downstairs."

"She can wait," Jared breathed. "You can't expect me to see you like this and not do anything about it."

Jensen didn't answer, but he allowed Jared to spin him around and back him up against the wall, so Jared guessed he didn't mind if Miss Whitmore had to wait a while longer.

* * *

When they finally ventured downstairs they found Miss Whitmore ensconced in the dining room with a pot of coffee and a pinched expression. She exchanged a look of thinly-veiled dislike with Jensen and then focused her attention on Jared with a winsome smile.

"There you are! I thought you must have forgotten all about me." She flitted a glance between them. "But you wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Of course not," Jared said hastily (although for a short period before they had eventually gotten dressed, he'd had trouble remembering his own name, let alone hers). "We were just, uh, discussing what to do to pass the time today." He elbowed Jensen subtly in the ribs. "Right?"

"Absolutely," Jensen said with a completely insincere smile. "I'll leave Jared to tell you the details; I'll go and check with the harbourmaster to see when your parents' ship is due to arrive." He nodded to Miss Whitmore, favoured Jared with a smirk and left before either of them could reply.

"Well then!" Miss Whitmore brightened considerably and patted the chair next to her. "Sit and have breakfast with me. And then I think we should perhaps get you some new clothes. These rags you're wearing are hardly appropriate."

She fingered the collar of his shirt as he sat down, alarmingly close to where one of Jensen's retaliatory love-bites marred his skin. Jared flinched away as discreetly as possible and cursed the man even as he prayed for him to return soon.

* * *

Jensen returned with the news that the Whitmores' ship was due in with the evening tide. Jared dragged him away almost immediately on the pretext of needing to organise funds, ignoring Miss Whitmore's protests that her parents would be overjoyed to cover their expenses. Jensen followed him quietly enough, although there was an amused tilt to his mouth when they rounded the first street corner and Jared all but collapsed back against the wall of the hotel.

"Tiring morning?" Jensen inquired blandly. Jared opened his eyes and glared at him.

"She wanted to take me shopping for clothes," he said. "I had the distinct impression she was going to stand just outside whatever dressing room I ended up in, directing the entire process, and I'd end up hogtied and strapped down in a three-piece pinstripe concoction before you returned."

"Hm." Jensen stood back and looked him up and down. "Pinstripes would suit you. A nice dark blue, perhaps …" His eyes glinted with humour and something earthier, and Jared had to remind himself they were in public.

"Don't you start," he warned. "Can we please just go and buy some thrice-damned clothes before she comes after me with a measuring tape?"

Jensen snorted but took pity on him, steering them toward a tailor without further comment.

They were outfitted with new clothes in record time. Jensen refused to wear a suit due to the heat, and Jared had never favoured them himself (yet another source of conflict with his parents). He spared a mournful thought for his secret desire to see Jensen fully outfitted, but it really wasn't practical in the steamy Caribbean temperatures. Instead, clad in hastily altered linen trousers and soft cotton shirts and waistcoats (of somewhat superior quality and fit to those loaned to them by the hotel), they returned in plenty of time to bathe and eat before they needed to report to the docks. Miss Whitmore had returned to the harbourmaster's house in something of a huff when Jared vetoed her accompanying them shopping, so for the next few hours he and Jensen were free to entertain each other.

"Thank you," he said, after they had concluded another extremely satisfactory round of lovemaking. Jensen raised his head from Jared's hip and smacked him soundly on the chest.

"What have I told you about saying that to me?" He sounded lazy rather than annoyed, and smoothed his hand over Jared's skin. "What for? Because if you mean this—" his hand dipped quickly down to fondle Jared's spent cock "—I can assure you there is definitely no need. It was my pleasure."

"So I gather," Jared said dryly. "No, I mean—for being here. For staying with me. I know it's not what you want."

Jensen rolled over on top of him and captured his wrists, pressing him down into the bed. His eyes were a dark burning green, staring at Jared like he wanted to devour him whole.

"You don't know the first thing about what I want."

Any answer Jared might have made to that was swallowed by Jensen's lips crashing down on his, effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

Afterward, Jared couldn't forget the look in Jensen's eyes. It had only been a moment, but the intensity he'd felt was almost too strong, and the way Jensen avoided his gaze when they rose to dress made him suspect Jensen was regretting having shown him so much. It started Jared thinking.

He had no reason to return to Galveston, really. He had no commitments there, and his family weren't expecting to see him again for years, if ever. The plan had been for him to settle in the Antilles on his uncle's plantation and make a life for himself. Jared hadn't minded—he had to make a living somehow, after all—but nor had he ever felt any great enthusiasm for it. The thought of abandoning the idea was no hardship at all. And the alternative ...

Jensen claimed Jared had no idea what he wanted. Jared remembered the way Jensen's gaze had burned right through to the heart of him, and the answering fire in his belly, and thought Jensen might just be wrong about that. The question was, could he get Jensen to admit it?

* * *

The evening with Miss Whitmore's parents seemed to last forever. Jared had convinced her that a dinner engagement would be more than sufficient opportunity for himself and Jensen to bear the Whitmores' gratitude. Somewhat sulkily she agreed, and Jared had shamelessly attached himself to Jensen's side, following him around the port like an unwanted puppy as Jensen went about replenishing various supplies. He tried not to panic when Jensen matter-of-factly inquired about passage back to Anegada with the captain of a sloop, without so much as a glance in Jared's direction.

By the time the Whitmores arrived Jared was half looking forward to the distraction. He was rapidly running out of time to persuade Jensen to let him stay, and he had yet to even raise the question. He wasn't even sure what he was waiting for; some signal perhaps, a sign that Jensen didn't find his companionship oppressive, and that Jared's continued presence on the island—in Jensen's life—wouldn't be unwelcome. But Jensen seemed oblivious to the possibility that Jared might return with him, and the longer Jared waited the more awkward and impossible the situation became, until he was wary of mentioning the future at all.

Only one thing gave him hope: Jensen's behaviour toward him when they were behind closed doors. It took a day and a half for the Whitmores to arrive in Puerto Rico, and Jared spent the majority of that time with Jensen's hands and tongue on or in some part of his body, driving him absolutely wild. Jensen, it appeared, had very few inhibitions when it came to pleasures of the flesh. Always a fast learner, Jared quickly came to appreciate this side of his personality, especially when he found himself facedown on the bed during their second day ashore, with Jensen's clever fingers and clever tongue buried so deep and good inside him that he had to bite a pillow to stop himself moaning loud enough to be heard in the lobby.

The things Jensen did to him, the way his gaze stayed pinned to Jared at all times, seeming to drink him in, the way his hands lingered even when they were in public—it all pointed to Jared's hopes being not entirely in vain, but he knew better than to think of bedroom activities as anything more than sport.

The much-anticipated dinner, when it finally occurred, was therefore something of a relief. Jared ignored Jensen's dark mutterings and dragged him downstairs, in no way willing to brave a Whitmore-filled evening alone.

It was exactly the ordeal Jared had expected. They were confronted with Miss Whitmore the moment they showed their faces. She attached herself to Jared's arm and towed him over to her adoring mama and papa, Jensen reluctantly bringing up the rear. Jared shot Jensen a look of desperation over his shoulder and received a sardonically raised eyebrow in reply. It was enough to reassure him for the time being, so Jared leveled his shoulders and steeled himself for the evening ahead.

The Whitmores were pleasant enough people; a retired newspaper owner and his wife, they had been visiting relatives and taking in the exotic sights of Port-au-Prince when their 'darling Victoria' had been snatched away.

"We thought she was lost forever, the poor lamb," Mrs Whitmore said, her hands fluttering like startled birds. "We looked everywhere for her, of course, but she simply vanished. And her poor chaperone ..." She stopped and went visibly pale, swallowing hard.

"Mrs Stanhope is dead," Miss Whitmore announced when Jared and Jensen exchanged confused looks. "They found her not far from where I was taken, stabbed to death. She must have tried to follow them, or stop them somehow."

Her face was set and white as she spoke, but her voice was steady, and Jared spared a moment to admire her courage. Regardless of her designs on him she had been remarkably sturdy throughout the entire ordeal, and if he were a different sort of man he might well have seen her as the perfect wife. As it was, he was hard pressed to keep his eyes away from Jensen, seated across from him at the table and looking unfairly resplendent in the soft candlelight shed by the dining room's chandelier. Every time he looked he found his gaze returned, Jensen's eyes dark and heavy-lidded, until he had to look away or risk shocking the entire hotel with his actions. From the corner of his eye he watched as Jensen poured a glass of wine and drank it swiftly, refilling without pause.

"Tell us about yourself, Mr Padalecki," Mr Whitmore said, leaning forward eagerly. "You look like a capable sort of man—what is your business, if I might ask?"

"Oh, nothing of note," Jared said with an airy smile. "My family has property in Texas, but I'm the second son so I've been left to make my own way. I haven't really settled on anything, to be honest."

"But what are you doing here, of all places?" Mrs Whitmore pressed. She shot a glance at her daughter. "It was so fortunate for us that you _are_ here—and you too of course, Mr Ackles—"

" _Doctor_ Ackles," Jared corrected. He suppressed a shiver when Jensen shot him a smile full of warmth and toasted him, tongue coming out to wipe an errant drop of claret from his bottom lip.

"Oh," Mrs Whitmore said, clearly taken aback. "Well. Yes, you did say .... but do tell us, Mr Padalecki—what are your plans?"

Jared looked around the table, taking in three expectant faces and one that was carefully blank, and in a split second made his decision. He took a deep swallow from his own wineglass and drew a steadying breath.

"I'm thinking of staying in the Antilles, actually," he said. "I'm here by happy accident, you might say, and the islands have been good to me so far. I'm hoping my situation here will turn out to be permanent."

He watched Jensen in his peripheral vision, and saw him stiffen momentarily. Mrs Whitmore was saying something in reply, her words rising and falling like wind chimes in his ears and just as meaningless. Jared cut his gaze across to Jensen and found himself caught and held by searing green eyes, a dozen different emotions swirling in their depths.

Jared managed a raised eyebrow in response, swallowing hard as Jensen's gaze darkened further, all pretense at conversation gone. He dragged his eyes away with an effort and forced himself not to look again, but he could feel Jensen's stare on him for the rest of the evening.

He noticed that Jensen's wineglass was never empty, but Jensen himself never appeared drunk; he simply grew more focused on Jared, to the point where Jared suspected he had forgotten the Whitmores' existence entirely. The sensation was thrilling and not a little alarming; Jensen was intimidating enough when sober. The thought of him in a state of intoxication was enough to raise the hair on the back of Jared's neck.

When the dessert course was finally over, Jared declined to partake of coffee and got to his feet. Jensen was standing beside him in a flash, not touching but close enough to brush against him when he breathed.

"It was lovely to meet you," Jared said, forcing a smile for his hosts. "I hope your journey home is uneventful, and that Miss Whitmore suffers no ill effects from her ordeal. Your daughter is very brave, and I admire her spirit."

We can never thank you enough, sir," Mr Whitmore said, grabbing his hand and pumping it enthusiastically. "She's our only child and we spoil her terribly, and having you bring her back to us is like a miracle. If you ever require anything—anything at all—I want you to call on me." He fished a card out of his jacket and handed it over, still shaking Jared's hand. "No thanks can ever be enough, truly."

"But I ... it wasn't ..." Jared began to explain again (he had several times tried to say that Jensen was the reason they were all standing here), but he was overriden once again by Miss Whitmore taking his arm and 'tsk'ing at him.

"Mama, Papa, I'm just going to steal him for a moment," she said with a winsome smile. "We'll be right over there." So saying, she drew Jared a few feet away and put a hand on his arm, her smile dropping to something much less flirtatious.

"I'm sorry I've been such a bother," she said, looking up at him, teeth worrying her bottom lip. "I was quite shaken up, and I'm afraid I mistook your kindness for something else. I didn't mean to cause trouble for you."

"I beg your pardon." Jared frowned. "What kind of trouble?"

She gestured at the tableau of her parents and Jensen staring at each other in awkward silence.

"I didn't realise at first," she said. "I was so grateful to you, and you _are_ very handsome, and just the sort of man my parents would want me to marry. It wasn't until tonight that I understood your situation."

"But .." Jared gestured helplessly. "I don't have any idea what you mean."

She 'tsk'ed at him again and slapped his arm. "You and Jensen, silly," she said. "I didn't see it before, but I understand perfectly now."

Jared felt his face heat up and guessed he must be turning a brilliant shade of red. He could see Jensen's gaze sharpen on him, all but ignoring the Whitmores' stilted attempts at conversation, and fought to keep his shudder from being visible.

"Er," he said, and coughed. "I see. Well, uh ... I don't actually know what to say. I didn't think you'd know about—about that kind of thing."

"Oh, I shouldn't," she agreed. "Except for Mrs Stanhope, I wouldn't have any idea. She has—had—a brother who was ... well, you know." She gestured, and Jared nodded hastily. "She confided in me. It was rather tragic; his lover left him alone and miserable, and he killed himself. It always made me sad when she spoke of him." She gave Jared a look. "I wouldn't like to think of you being like that."

Jared swallowed against the mad urge to confess everything to her and beg for advice. He wavered for an instant, seeing the sympathetic look on her face, but eventually reason asserted itself and he arranged his features into a smile.

"I'll try not to," was all he could say. On impulse he took her hand and kissed it, making her blush. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Whitmore."

"Thank you, kind sir," she said, with a smile and a little curtsey. She directed a look behind Jared and put a hand up to cover a smile. "I'd best leave you now, I think. Jensen looks like he's going to explode."

Jared gestured for her to precede him, darting a glance at Jensen's narrowed gaze and stormy expression as he did so. He stumbled momentarily, his breath coming short at the depth of feeling he saw there. All at once he was desperate to be rid of their dinner companions and get himself and Jensen behind a locked door, where he could finally ask the question that was burning on the tip of his tongue.

"We should be off now, Papa," Miss Whitmore said when they rejoined the group. "Jared has a busy schedule, and I'd like to return home as soon as possible and put all of this behind me."

"Oh! Er, of course, poppet," Mr Whitmore said, his brow creased. "If you say so." He stood there aimlessly for a moment, looking between Jared and his daughter in confusion as if waiting for one of them to yell, 'Surprise!' and flash an engagement ring. When nothing of that nature occurred, he shuffled his feet and cleared his throat, looking somewhat lost.

"Thank you for dinner," Jensen said out of nowhere, his tone measured and precise. "It's been some time since either of us enjoyed a civilised meal, and we appreciate your kindness." He put his hand on Jared's back. "I'm afraid we have to take our leave now, however; Miss Whitmore is right, we have much to do tomorrow." He aimed a civil smile at the three of them and nudged Jared toward the stairs. "Lovely to meet you, and we wish you all the best in the future. Good night."

"Good night," Jared threw over his shoulder as Jensen herded him away. "Thank you!" And then he gave up all attempts at politeness and took the stairs two at a time, Jensen right on his heels.

* * *

The door closed behind them with a quiet _snick_ of the latch. Jared turned to see Jensen locking it securely, leaning back against it with his arms crossed and his gaze once more fixed on Jared's face.

"So."

"So," Jared echoed. He felt awkward and exposed, and stuck his hands in his pockets to combat the feeling.

"Right," Jensen said, and launched himself away from the door. He connected with Jared at full speed and tumbled him down onto the bed.

Jared let out a huff of air when he fell; he braced them both with a hand on Jensen's chest nonetheless, and felt the hammering of Jensen's heart beneath the skin. There was that same burning intensity in the dark green of Jensen's eyes, and a new urgency in the way his hands caught and held Jared's body, closer than ever. Jared found himself unable to catch his breath, too aroused by the implications he was seeing in Jensen's gaze.

Jensen lowered his head and brushed his lips along Jared's jawline, light as air, each touch setting off fireworks under his skin. The kisses continued to his ear and down, turning into wet, sucking marks of passion on the sensitive area of his neck. Jared threaded his hands into Jensen's unkempt hair and pressed closer, spreading his legs and arching into the contact. Jensen sank down out of his crouch, his full weight pushing down everywhere, pressure and warmth and solidity making Jared's head spin. Jensen bit gently at the juncture between neck and shoulder; Jared swore and clenched fistfuls of Jensen's hair, and felt Jensen's teeth bared against his skin.

"Anything," Jared panted, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. "Dear God, Jensen, you can have anything, _anything_." He wrapped his leg around Jensen's hips and ground up hard, and Jensen moaned as if the sound were being forced out of him.

Jensen pulled back far enough to look at him, staring down with such desire and need that Jared lost what little breath he'd gained. He lay there and returned Jensen's gaze, heart and body open wide, inviting, _challenging_.

"Anything," he said again, meaning every syllable, and Jensen cursed like he was dying and crashed down on him like a storm.

They weren't gentle. There was too much repressed emotion between them for that, and it wasn't what Jared wanted anyway. He matched Jensen bite for bite, scratched and bruised and wrestled with him all around the room until they were both naked and writhing for dominance on the tangled sheets. For all that Jared had the height advantage, Jensen was more cunning and more solidly built, so it was with little surprise that Jared found himself once more flat on his back, his wrists now pinned to the bed by his hips, Jensen's knees keeping them in place.

Jensen's eyes were fiery hot, his skin flushed, teeth bared in a half-snarl as he rocked unconsciously against Jared's body. Jared met his eyes and shuddered, biting his lip. Desire ran hot and fast in his blood, clouding his mind, narrowing his focus until all he could sense, all he could think about was the man above him, turning his body into an inferno.

"Did you mean it?" Jensen ground out suddenly, sounding wretched. He had a hand around Jared's throat, the other tweaking his nipples until they stood up in tight points, running his nails over them until they were aching with almost-pain. "What you said before?"

"Yes," Jared gasped. He had no idea what Jensen was talking about and no ability to comprehend it just then, but it didn't matter; regardless of the question, 'yes' was the only answer he had. "Jensen, please ..."

"Anything?" Jensen moved suddenly, hard grip on his wrists replacing the pressure of his knees, which suddenly were between his legs. Jensen slid long and slow up his body until they were face to face, dragging Jared's captive hands up to rest by his shoulders on the bed. "Whatever I want?"

" _Yes_ ," Jared hissed the word, lunging up to bite at Jensen's lips in a savage kiss.

Jensen bore him down flat and took his mouth roughly, freeing one of his hands to grasp Jared's thigh and lift it for better access. Jared growled deep in his throat and thrust back, reduced to pure animal sensation and not giving a damn.

"I want this," Jensen whispered harshly, sliding his hand around to palm Jared's backside. "I want to lay you facedown on this bed and grind you into it, fuck you so deep you can taste it." He squeezed his handful of flesh, fingers edging into the dark space between Jared's thighs. "I want to brand myself on you, so that all those who follow know I had you first."

"Sweet Jesus," Jared groaned, rutting against Jensen's hips. He pulled Jensen's head down for another deep, breath-stealing kiss, then wrenched his mouth away and yanked at his captive hand until Jensen relented and let go. Jared turned over and drew up his knees, head pillowed on his folded arms, chest heaving like a bellows. He was stretched thin, every nerve taut with anticipation. "Do it. Oh God, please, I _want_ ..."

Jensen growled into the nape of his neck and bit down hard, making Jared arch and thrust into the sheets. He felt Jensen straddle his hips, felt those capable hands trailing down over his back, mapping every inch. Jensen kissed wherever his hands went, occasionally pausing to bite or suck, until Jared's skin burned. He twisted in Jensen's hold, sweat rising as the heat between them grew so that Jensen's hands were slick with it. Jensen licked a long stripe along the centre of his spine, pausing to kiss him wet and thorough when Jared turned his head. Then back down, hands on his backside pulling him apart, Jensen's mouth licking and sucking there as well. Jared muffled his moans with his hands, tilting his hips up and back, knees shaking as he tried to raise himself off the bed. Jensen's shoulders kept him splayed wide, and then his knees, and then Jared felt Jensen's hand on his back and another on his thigh, and he bit the fleshy part of his palm to stay quiet.

Jensen slid home in two quick thrusts, filling him with a guttural groan that Jared felt to his bones. It was strange, for a few moments; to feel _taken_ , but not invaded, as he always thought he would. This was nothing like he had expected, and everything he wanted, and more.

"Move," he gasped, feeling Jensen tremble where they touched. "God's sake, Jensen—"

"Hurt?" Jensen breathed back. He sounded like it was an effort. "Jared, am I ..."

"No. Please. _Move_." Jared shoved back, sacrificing one hand to balance precariously on the other so he could pull Jensen's hips closer. "So deep I can taste it, you said. Show me."

He felt Jensen's forehead against the nape of his neck, a single hot point of contact between them. Jensen's hips drew back and pistoned in deep, twice, thrice, and try as he might Jared couldn't keep his moan contained. He unfolded his arms and pushed against the headboard, providing leverage, and when Jensen pushed into him again Jared pushed back.

"Oh my God." Jensen's breath was damp and close on his skin, ruffling the fine strands at his hairline as he chanted a string of oaths and profanities that made Jared shiver uncontrollably. "Fucking _perfect_ , Jared, you can't imagine ... never thought to have this, never." He paused for breath, parted lips against Jared's skin. "Won't last. Can't—can't—ah, not yet, damn it, not fucking _done yet_ ," and he slammed in so hard Jared's knees buckled under him.

It was nothing but pure base rutting after that; Jared arched his back and Jensen pounded deep, each stroke sliding rough-silken over his insides, riling him up to ever-higher peaks of shuddering pleasure. Jared stopped caring about the noise they were making, intent only on keeping pace with Jensen's thrusts, making it last. He responded blindly to Jensen's every move, his head dropped low between his shoulders, breathing choppy and shallow as his climax began to overtake him.

Jared let out a low sound and ground his hips back on Jensen's next thrust; he felt Jensen's hand on his cock, tight and almost punishing, but so good he lost his breath altogether. Jensen drew him upright with one arm banded across his chest, still buried in him to the hilt, giving him tiny thrusts as he stripped Jared's cock with hard, quick strokes. Jared cried out, unable to stand it, and went rigid as his pleasure peaked and peaked again, endless spasms spilling out of him until he was a limp, pliant mess in Jensen's hold.

"Beautiful," Jensen told him, lowering him back to the bed. He kept his arms around Jared's body, hips jerking erratically, his steady rhythm gone. "So perfect, giving me everything like that, God."

Jared got his knees under him and spread wide again, too exhausted to do more. He put one hand on Jensen's hip, pressing him closer, encouraging him without words to take what he wanted. Jensen gasped for breath next to his face; Jared raised up on one elbow with herculean effort and twisted to kiss him, and that was apparently enough to push Jensen over the edge. He made a rough sound and his hips stuttered, then went utterly still; a moment later Jared felt him release deep inside. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever felt in his life.

Jensen had been supporting himself on his elbows; he collapsed now full onto Jared's body, blanketing his back. He was a heavy but welcome weight, anchoring Jared to the here and now while they both recovered from what had felt like an earthshattering event. Jared felt Jensen softening and gradually sliding free of his body; when that was done he turned onto his side and pulled Jensen in, enclosing him in a full-body embrace. Jensen didn't protest, mostly because he was already three-quarters asleep. Jared smiled and kissed his forehead, then lay his head down on the pillow and followed suit. Time enough to talk when they awoke. Or perhaps after a second go-round.

* * *

Jared woke late the following morning, sprawled in an ungainly mess across the width of the bed. He raised his head and peered around blearily, squinting in the bright sunlight pouring through the open curtains. His body ached in several parts, but the reminder of the activities that led to such pains made him smile and stretch long and lazy, eyes closing to savour the feeling.

Memory hit in a flash, causing him to sit upright as if pulled by a string. Jared stared at the empty room around him, his heart beating faster as his gaze cleared and the details began to sink in. They had stumbled about while getting each others' clothes off—there were many convenient walls in the room, and Jensen reacted so favourably to being shoved up against them—and their shirts and trousers and waistcoats had ended up all over the place. They'd made a mess of the bedclothes, too: twice during the night Jensen woke him to more pleasures that left the blankets a tangled mess half on the floor.

Looking around now, it was like none of that had happened. The blankets had been neatly tucked around Jared when he woke; his clothes were folded and precisely squared on top of the chest at the foot of the bed. Most importantly, Jensen and all of his accoutrements were gone.

Jared allowed himself to harbour a vague hope, as he hurriedly dressed and headed downstairs, that Jensen had only left to procure breakfast for them. The concierge informed him otherwise in no uncertain terms; Jensen had left at dawn, with instructions to wire his bank for the cost of his stay rather than letting Jared pay for all. There was no message for Jared, not even a simple 'goodbye'.

Jared turned away from the desk feeling like he'd been kicked in a delicate place. Which he had, depending on how one looked at it. It wasn't every day a man took a chance and shared his desires and hopes with someone, only to have them run away as fast as they could the very next day.

Then again, remembering the intensity of Jensen's gaze on him the entire night previous, he thought perhaps it wasn't Jared's desires Jensen was running away from.

"Damn it," Jared muttered. "Jensen, you lackwitted _ass_."

He headed for the street, cursing under his breath as he went. Jensen had a half-day's head start, so Jared needed to move fast.

* * *

He had to promise an exorbitant amount of money to convince a captain to take him back to Anegada. Storm season had begun and the island was surrounded by reefs, making passage difficult. Jared doubled his original price, then trebled it, and eventually won agreement from a grizzled fellow of mixed blood who peered at him with bright blue eyes in a face like leather, and finally nodded.

"It's on yer head if we sink, señor," he said. "I hope ye've made yer peace with God."

"I'm almost certain it won't come to that," Jared assured him, suppressing his urge to roll his eyes.

He spent a few hours gathering as many supplies as he could, using the last of his ready cash to do so. When the time came to leave, he spared a moment to send a quick prayer heavenward and then set his face toward the prow of the ship, focusing on where he wanted to be.

Now that his burst of activity was over, he had leisure to consider what he was actually doing. There was no guarantee that Jensen would welcome him; regardless of the depth of feeling they might share, Jensen was still a man who preferred his own company, to the point of abandoning society to find peace. Jared had no surety that Jensen would allow or even want him to stay.

Jared shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts. No; he might be foolish, but he believed the connection between them was strong enough to risk rejection. Jensen had left him, true—but Jensen was unused to the idea that someone might want him enough to live in exile. Jared intended to make it clear that between society and Jensen, there was absolutely no contest, and let the chips fall where they may. At the very least, he wouldn't spend his life wondering 'what if'.

They were blessed with remarkably good weather, and made the return trip to Anegada in just under a full day. The captain lowered a boat and a sailor rowed them into the shallows on the southwestern coast, and Jared stepped ashore with a sense of determination he'd rarely felt before. He hitched his well-stocked bag over his shoulder and splashed onto the beach, breathing deep of the salty air.

* * *

He set out at an easy pace, heading northwest along the beach. The island seemed infinitely more beautiful to him now, the wildness of it simply captivating rather than threatening. Jared strode along the sand with a smile on his face, enjoying the sights, smells and sounds of Anegada. Less than a half-hour passed before he paused to go barefoot; fifteen minutes after that, he stripped out of his waistcoat and rolled his trouser legs up to the knee, letting the tide break over his feet. It was a lovely day, the sky blue and free of clouds and a gentle breeze stirring the tamarind trees.

After about an hour, he looked ahead and saw an odd-looking assortment of dark shapes moving slowly down the beach, heading for the water. As he drew nearer Jared could see that the shapes were infant turtles, freshly hatched. He stopped well short of them and watched, wishing fiercely that Jensen were here to see it. Hundreds of the tiny reptiles made their clumsy, blind way across the sand, disappearing once they reached the relative safety of the water. It was a sight that left him breathless and feeling somehow very small.

Jared knelt and pulled a notepad and pencil from his pack, hastily scribbling as many observations as he could while the exodus on the beach continued. He attempted some awkward sketches and took note of the predators that arrived on the scene to pick off the stragglers—anything that might be helpful to Jensen's studies. By the time the beach was empty Jared's hand was cramped and he had filled twenty or so pages with notations. He stood up with a groan, feeling his knees protest, and struck out overland, now heading due north. The day was dying and he wanted to end it in Jensen's arms.

When he arrived at what he thought of as Jensen's beach, twilight was falling. It was still warm, and there was enough light to see as Jared went down to the beach to wash his feet clean of mangrove mud. He'd stopped to gather some bananas on his way; they sat lumpily in his pack, echoing his internal state. His heart was fluttering madly in his chest, and his hands were shaking.

Jared took a deep breath and went steadily up the beach toward Jensen's hut.

* * *

  
In the end, it was simple.

Jared quietly laid his pack down on the edge of the porch and swung himself up with the rope. He could hear Jensen moving around inside; he was talking to himself, low-voiced mutterings with a frantic edge that Jared had never heard before. He hefted the bunch of bananas in one hand and stepped into the doorway, leaning against the wall.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Did you forget something in Puerto Rico?"

Jensen was standing with his back to the door, his hands holding something Jared couldn't see. When he heard Jared's voice he went absolutely still, his entire body tightening in one long ripple. A moment later he relaxed, his shoulders settling into a natural line as he turned his profile toward Jared.

"I thought I had," he said, his voice rough. "But it seems I was mistaken."

He turned around then, and Jared drew in a breath. Jensen was holding a makeshift shaving kit—soap, water, a gleaming straight razor—and the face he turned to Jared was bare.

"I was intending to, uh, go back for it," Jensen went on. "But I can see you've saved me the trouble."

He tilted his head and smiled a little hesitantly, and Jared snapped out of his daze.

"You're welcome," he said with a grin. Setting the fruit down on the floor he asked, "So, what's for dinner? I'm starving."

Jensen took two long steps forward and yanked him in close, fisting his hands in Jared's shirt.

"You're _staying_ ," he breathed into Jared's parted lips.

"I'm staying," Jared agreed. He looped his arms around Jensen's hips and kissed his nose. "Dinner now?"

"Dinner later," Jensen told him, pulling him over to the bed. "Much later. I need to—my God, Jared, I can't believe you came back."

Jared let Jensen bear him down onto the blankets, smiling up at him.

"You will."

END


End file.
